


Haunted

by starthief



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Belly Rubs, Belly worship, Blow Jobs, Character Death Fix, Depression, Fake Character Death, Fat fetish, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Gay, Gay Bucky Barnes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post- Avengers: Infinity War (Movie), Retirement, Size Difference, Size Kink, Steve Is Alive, Stuffing, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, bi steve rogers, bucky pov, chub kink, chubby chaser, chubby!bucky, fat appreciation, trans!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: Steve is killed in the fight against Thanos. Bucky retires and gains some weight. On the anniversary of Steve’s death, a stranger comes into Bucky’s life. He’s familiar and foreign all at the same time, and Bucky is torn between his attraction toward him and his grief over Steve. Sometimes the stranger is almost too close for comfort, and Bucky feels the unresolved relationship he never had with Steve coming back to haunt him.





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Possible outcome of Infinity War. They’d better not kill Steve off, dammit. But if they do, the fandom is prepared to ignore it. It’s not canon. I don’t care. STUCKY WILL LIVE IN IN FANART. Much angsty!Bucky ahead. Big… angry… broody… angsty Bucky. *pants*  
> Updates every Tuesday.

_At the moment of impact, neither of them realised it at first. The explosion had erupted behind them, and a large piece of metal impaled itself in Steve’s torso, unnoticed by the heroes, who were laughing and giving each other triumphant smiles._

_“We did it, thank god,” Tony muttered like he couldn’t believe it, and sank to his knees._

_Bruce started chuckling nervously, more of a shocked reaction than anything else, and soon, everyone joined in._

_Then Steve noticed the dull, throbbing pain in his midsection, and the little shit, he tried to hide it. He positioned his shield over the wound and grinned, taking a step back when Natasha punched him playfully on the shoulder._

_Then the sky shook open and all reason left Bucky’s life forever. The wraiths they had been fighting were reduced to corpses, littering the ground. All in one motion, they stood in various states of destruction. The Avengers quickly reformed themselves into a defence position, those who could fly hovering in air, and those who could not stood in a circle protectively, their sense of false security shattered._

_Thanos spoke to them, addressing them directly, informing them of how foolish they had been to think that they’d won, how that was only the beginning. The Avengers were tired, their last ounce of energy spent defeating the wraiths._

_So they did the only thing they could, planted their feet firmly shoulder-width apart, and continued fighting._

_One energy bolt from a wraith, and Steve was down. Bucky immediately began covering for him, firing a wide circle clear for Steve until he got back up. But he didn’t get back up._

_“Pal, you okay?” Bucky had called to him._

_No answer._

_“Vis, cover me!” Bucky shouted up to the AI in the sky, running over to Steve. A stream of blood trickled from his mouth. “Goddammit, what did you do?” he moved the shield away and then saw the carnage of what had once been Steve’s beautiful torso._

_Steve’s eyes fluttered open. “Explosion… got me. I was… down before I even… started.”_

_“No, Steve. You’re not down. Get up.” Steve choked on the blood filling his throat. Bucky stood back. “Soldier! On your feet!” he commanded, and it worked. Steve screwed his eyes shut and grunted as he rose, arm slung across his middle. “You’re not done, do you hear me?” The command came out softer than he intended, but Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to get emotional. Steve was fine. He could do this. He’d walked away from worse before._

_They continued fighting, Steve’s performance only a little under his usual, but still holding his own. They plunged forward mercilessly into the sea of wraiths around them, making a small but definite dent in Thanos’ army._

_The purple god in the sky laughed at their attempts. “I have the infinity gauntlet, little heroes. I hold the power. Your earth is dying, your cities destroyed. My wraiths feed off the energy they drain from you. Give up.”_

_Steve looked up then, and Bucky saw that determined look cross his face. “What is it, Steve?”_

_“Get Tony, Sam, and Clint. Meet me behind that building, over there.” The comm inside his helmet had broken hours ago._

_Bucky nodded and ran off, praying Steve would be able to reach the building on his own. He found the others and hurried to the building. Steve was taking his helmet off, and fashioning a sort of ramp out of the debris around him. Sam hurried over to help._

_“Okay, I think I found an angle. You aren’t going to like it, but I think it’s the only chance we have.” He wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. “I’ll stand here. Tony, come down on the other side as hard as you can. After I’m launched into the air, Clint, you fire a four-second explosive arrow at me, okay?” He signed along with his speech when he addressed Clint._

_“Steve, what are you planning?” Bucky asked in the same voice one would use to reprimand a child._

_“Sam, you have the hard part. I need you to distract Thanos and get him in position. See the point of that tower? I need you to line up the gauntlet there. That’s my target,” Steve continued, ignoring Bucky. “Okay everyone, count down from sixty, get in position, and then go.”_

_“Steve, this doesn’t make any sense,” Tony spoke up. “I mean, it’s a good plan… or, really, our only plan. But you don’t have to be the one to do this… I mean, let Carol go for the glove. She can fly, at least.”_

_Steve shook his head. “It has to be me. Because… I’m expendable.” He stood up straight, removing his shield and revealing his injury was worse than before. He had removed the shard of metal, and cauterised the wound somehow. Burnt, blackened flesh sat around a mess of organs and tissue. “I’m not going to last long, I know it. The serum is keeping me from thinking about it for now, but…”_

_Bucky understood. Steve thought he was going to die, so he might as well defeat Thanos before he got the chance. “Steve…” Bucky whispered. He could hear sounds of fighting and shouts in the distance, but the four of them stood silent in shock._

_Sam stepped forward, gingerly hugging Steve. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. It’s been an honour to fight with you.”_

_Bucky couldn’t believe this was happening. How could they let him do this? Thanos’ destruction was important, sure, but it wasn’t worth this. It wasn’t worth Steve. Nothing was._

_Tony cleared his throat. “Right, you heard him. Everybody, get in position.” Sam broke the embrace and flew off, getting in place for his diversion. Clint shot a grapple arrow to the building. Tony hovered in the air above the ramp._

_“Steve…” Bucky began. A million thoughts raced through his mind. He should say everything now, while he still had a chance. Admit that he loved him, he always loved him. Ever since they were kids. He should have told him years ago, but something always got in the way. He didn’t think it ever_ could _end, never mind the fact that it would. He couldn’t believe every moment of their relationship had brought them here. “Where do I go?” he found himself saying._

_Steve turned to him, tears in his perfect blue eyes. “Back with the others. You’re emotionally compromised, Buck, I can’t let you—“_

_Bucky squared his jaw, anger flooding his senses. “Fine. I don’t want to help you kill yourself, anyway.”_

_Steve swallowed, choking back blood, or tears, or something. “Goddammit, Buck, I…” Tony signalled them from the sky. “I have to go.”_

_Bucky wanted to take what he said back, hold on to the moment, but it was slipping away from him. “This isn’t goodbye. You’re coming back with that gauntlet, you hear me?” Steve stepped forward into Bucky’s space and hugged him. It was so impossibly underwhelming, and when he stepped back Bucky felt more unsatisfied than before. “This is_ exactly _what I meant when I said not to do anything stupid.” He didn’t know how he could joke at a time like this, but it seemed that however he tried to be, funny or angry were his only two options. He couldn’t be sincere. He couldn’t fall apart. And there was no way he’d let Steve’s last memory of him be one where he was angry._

_Steve smiled sadly and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Thank you for being my friend.”_

_Then he got on the ramp, and Tony flew toward the high end with all of his strength. Bucky watched Steve’s wrecked body fly through the air. He caught Clint’s arrow in his trajectory toward the gauntlet, which was positioned perfectly, thanks to Sam’s distraction. At the moment of impact, a beam of light blossomed across the sky, and moments later, a sonic boom shook the ground. Bucky fell back, and saw a portal filled with darkness open behind Thanos. It sucked him in like a black hole, and after it closed, two small shapes fell to the earth. Sam recovered from the tremor and caught Steve, letting the infinity gauntlet plummet toward the earth._

_Sam landed next to Bucky with Steve in his arms and laid him gently on the ground. Bucky couldn’t hear a thing except for the heartbeat in his ears, louder and faster with every beat._

_He tried to ask if Steve was alive, but no sound would come from his mouth._

_Sam stepped back, giving them some space. “He’s still breathing. I… I have to check in with the rest of the team.”_

_Bucky nodded numbly, and Sam flew back to the sky, leaving the two of them alone. At first, he thought Steve was unconscious, but then the Captain turned his head and coughed blood._

_“How bad… is it?” he rasped, and Bucky could hear the rattling in his chest like something wet, something wrong. It reminded him of when Steve was small, before Dr. Erskine, when he had asthma, and on humid days Bucky would have to hold him and help him breathe. He hated that goddamn sound._

_Bucky looked down to the wound in his stomach, the multiple head wounds, the punctured lung, the severed leg. His supersoldier blood was still keeping him alive, cruelly, perhaps._

_Steve spoke again before Bucky could answer. “Didn’t think I’d… make it back down. But I’m… glad to see you again… Buck.”_

_Bucky couldn’t be funny or angry or anything else other than soul-shattering_ sad _, then. He clutched Steve’s broken body and held him close. Tears dropped out of his eyes and onto Steve’s dirt stained face, making trails of moisture and then disappearing in his dirty blond beard. He wished he could command Steve not to die, but he knew it must hurt so much the Captain could barely think. He knew exactly what this pain felt like. He died once, when he fell of the train. He died a second time when they wiped his memory, and over and over, like the scab being ripped off an old wound._

_“I’m a 100 years old… in two months… to the day,” Steve remarked, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky knew. The whole team had been planning a surprise party for months. Bucky already had the present picked out, wrapped in a pretty little box and hidden underneath his bed._

_Bucky couldn’t think of a single goddamn thing to say. “Steve,” he whispered. Dumb little kid from Brooklyn. He should have known he’d die like this. He fought off the biggest bully in the universe. Little shit never knew when to stop. “Please,” he begged, not really knowing what he was begging for. Steve’s life, he supposed. A hundred bargains flashed through his mind._ Please. Steve defeated Thanos, that has to mean something. You can let him leave. It can’t mean that much to you, one little life _, Bucky prayed to the universe, or God, or whomever would answer._

_Nat came running around the corner with something in her hands. Fear grew plainly on her face when she saw how badly Steve was doing, but she handed Bucky the gauntlet. It had shrunk to human-sized, and Bucky thought abstractly, he could fit his hand in it. The stones were dull and grey, and he supposed magic was gone. Everything Thanos had fought for was useless. Insignificant._

_“The gauntlet,” she said, holding it out for Bucky to take. His mind blanked for a moment. “Strange said that maybe… it has enough left?”_

_Bucky understood. Maybe the gauntlet would have enough left to save Steve. Hope coursed through his veins, like the serum keeping Steve alive. He put it on his flesh hand, unsure of how to use it. He held it out over Steve, repeating the word in his head._ Please. Please. Please.

_Steve was becoming less responsive, eyes unfocused, breathing irregular._

Please.

_Nat squeezed Steve’s hand that wasn’t wrapped around Bucky. He didn’t squeeze back._

Please.

_“This is it, Buck… the end of the line.” Bucky wasn’t sure whether Steve actually spoke the words or whether he just heard it in his head._

_No._

Please.

Please, no.

_The Captain’s arm fell from where it rested around Bucky’s waist, dropping limply to the ground. Bucky watched as his eyes fogged over like they were made of glass._

_He was gone._

Bucky woke from one nightmare into another one. He reached over into the dark and felt for his phone, turning on the display. _4:03_. For four hours and three minutes, it had been the one year anniversary of Steve’s death. He sat up in the darkness, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. And if he did, he’d just be haunted by nightmares worse than that, anyway. Nightmares where Thanos used him against Steve, muttered _longing, rusted, seventeen_ and he slipped away from himself, came back just in time to watch the light go out of his best friend’s eyes as he strangled him.

He got up and tripped over the things on the floor in the way to the bathroom. He turned on the light, avoiding his reflection. He died once when he fell off the train, over and over each time HYDRA froze him, and he died the last time when Steve did. Since then, he felt like each day he was a little more decomposed than the day before, like he was a corpse that just kept running in circles, unaware of its demise, just waiting for someone to let him know. He felt like he was stuck in hell, dead, but unable to be with Steve. He had dreams that were so sweet, so beautiful, almost worse than nightmares, where Steve was an angel, and he’d fly down with his soft golden wings and just hold Bucky, and whisper that he _knew_ , that he understood everything Bucky hadn’t been able to say before he died, that he always understood everything he couldn’t phrase out loud. Those words had been stuck in his head for the last year, a poison that was slowly shutting down his systems one by one. He hadn’t shaved Natasha last came over and made him clean himself up, but he pushed even her away, and eventually she stopped trying.

He could feel her leaving all over again, grabbing her bag and heading toward the door.

_“Where are you going?”_

_“Away. I don’t want to watch you do this to yourself anymore.”_

It was almost just what he’d said to Steve right before he died, and that made things fresh again.

He splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing his hands through his beard. He flicked his eyes up instinctively, then regretted it instantly. His eyes looked tired and dead, and his slate-blue was too close to Steve’s pure cyan. His hair went well past his shoulders, and he looked unkempt and wild, if a wild creature could look completely depressed. He thought suddenly that he looked like an abandoned house. No one was home to take care of the grounds anymore, and the shutters had been worn down in the rain, only a few battered, faded curtains remaining on the windows, the grass had grown tall and choked out by weeds, the roof had holes, and wind had blown piles of leaves over the doorstep. He also knew, vaguely, that he was gaining weight. He wasn’t even trying to be healthy anymore, and he knew that the last year’s habits of overeating must have effect on him, but he couldn’t bear to inspect himself to see. It hardly mattered; he had quit the Avengers the day after Steve’s funeral (although Tony still insisted that he could come back any time he wanted, and a check came in the mail every month. Naturally, he didn’t want to accept it, but actively wasting away was too much effort, so the majority of it went toward basic needs to ensure that he would suffer for another month or two), and it wasn’t as if he was looking for a relationship. So who cared if he was getting fat, or if he looked like shit?

However, he didn’t enjoy feeling like shit, so he decided to take a shower. The temperature of the showers in his crummy New York apartment were always freezing cold, but it helped him wake up a little, and it wasn’t as if he wanted to take a hot shower in May, anyway. He washed himself, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d jerked off. He tried, but he just wasn’t feeling up to it.

He hated the way he was living. It was too familiar to who he’d been when he lived in Bucharest, when it was hard to tell which parts of him were the Soldier and which parts were Bucky. But he’d had Steve then; even if he was a stranger, he had some connection to who he was before HYDRA had sucked the soul out of him and forced a machine in.

He finished his shower with methodical precision, soaping and then rinsing off. While he certainly lacked the motivation to perform tasks such as clean his room, shave, or find a hobby that might interest him other than sitting on the roof of his building and thinking about jumping, he managed to overcompensate in areas such as showering, eating, and taking walks in Central Park.

He shut off the water and towelled himself off, picking up a kind-of-clean pair of sweatpants and a Henley off the floor. Half the time he wondered what he _did_ with all his time, but then he remembered that he could just sit and stare at the wall and let hours pass by. When Natasha, Sam, and T’Challa used to regularly come over and visit, they’d often find him on the couch staring at the static on the TV. They’d all eventually stopped trying, and now days slipped by without his notice.

After he dressed, he started his most recent routine in the warm spring weather; he went down to the doughnut shop a block over, ordered half a dozen and a large, sugar-filled flavoured coffee, and went to eat his breakfast in the park. He watched the sunrise, and a few early morning joggers ran past. At six, an old lady he’d seen a few times before sat beside him, feeding pigeons. He thought ironically that she was probably thirty years younger than him, despite the fact that she probably would think there was a forty year difference between them.

“Would you like some birdseed?” she asked him, offering a handful.

“Thank you.” Bucky accepted, scattering it by his feet and feeling a small touch of pride when a blackbird and two wrens pecked at the feed.

They fed the birds in silence for a while more, and then at eight the lady picked up her bag and continued walking.

He decided to visit Steve’s grave. He went a few times a week. Not to the memorial in Madison Square, where an enormous marble statue of the Captain stood, or even to the graveyard where the 107th had been buried and where Steve had requested in a will written long ago that he be buried, but to an unmarked grave in an unremarkable cemetery at Cedar Grove. The memorial and the tombstone that read Steven Grant Rogers: Captain America were too formal, and Bucky felt no connection to the dirt the stones stood on. Also, it was almost guaranteed that they would be covered in tourists, and he was unused to sharing Steve. Bucky had discovered this particular grave a few months back, when he took the wrong subway to Queens. He’d stumbled across it by chance, but it seemed special. An oak tree stood over the grave, letters worn away by time. Bucky could picture Steve sitting on the tombstone and sketching a mausoleum, and his time these days was often spent doing things that Steve used to do, trying to get a sense that if he could close his eyes, he might be there.

Before boarding the subway to Queens, he bought a bouquet of yellow tulips. He took the Flushing Line to 52nd street, then walked the rest of the blocks to the cemetery. He placed the flowers on the grave, wondering who might actually be down there.

“Hey Stevie,” he began, realising that he was crying, just a little. He could probably count on one hand the times that he’d cried since Steve’s death. He didn’t often express his anger in such a tidy way. “It’s Saturday today. I, uh, had a good week. That Mexican place you liked closed. I think they’re putting in a breakfast café or something. You’d like it, they have vegan omelettes and shit like that.” His voice cracked on the last part of that sentence. He took a moment to compose himself. “The sunset was really pretty this morning. You would’ve liked to paint it. I still have all your paints, did you know that? When they were cleaning out your room in the Avengers tower after… well, I said I’d take some of your things, and it just didn’t seem right to throw all your tubes and brushes and shit away. I know they were expensive and all. I remember back when we lived together in Brooklyn and you got your first job, I made you promise to spend your first pay check on a nice winter coat, but you came home with a bunch’a goddamn paints. Couldn’t tell the difference between half the shades, either. I asked ya what the hell ya came home with five tubes all the same colour red for.” Bucky laughed a little at the memory. The only time he felt himself at all was when he was there at that grave, talking to Steve. But he knew Steve wasn’t there; he wasn’t even in the dirt under the ground. Did that make him crazy?

He realised he wasn’t alone in the cemetery. A few rows away, a tall man with a dog stood near a grave, talking in low tones. When he realised Bucky was staring, he raised a hand in greeting. Bucky snapped his face back to the grave in front of him. The dog barked, and tugged at its leash. Bucky bent down to brush a spider web off the corner of the tombstone, and he heard the man call out to the dog.

A moment later, a friendly face was peeking around the headstone. “Hi, puppy!” Bucky scratched the dog’s ear, a young German shepherd.

The man jogged over. “Sorry about that! I just got him a week ago. He isn’t trained yet.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky loved animals. He thought he should get himself a cat, or something. Even if he couldn’t take care of himself, it was probably therapeutic and shit to have a cat. Maybe he’d name it Steve. “What’s his name?”

“I’m not actually sure. He came with the name Max, but that’s a little too generic for my taste.”

Bucky nodded. “This fella has way more personality than that. How about…” Rogers seemed too obvious. Bucky quickly went down the alphabet for a quick substitute. “…Dodger?”

The man smiled. “I like it. Dodger!” The man whistled and the dog pricked up his ears. “I think he likes it, too. Do you have a dog?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nope. No pets right now.”

The man gestured at the tombstone. “Lost someone? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uh, yeah. A friend in the military. This isn’t his headstone… I just like coming here.” Everything about his answer was so understated. He almost felt like he was disappointing Steve by calling him just a ‘friend’, but he couldn’t think of any better way to put it to a stranger. ‘I was in love with Captain America’, he could say. Yeah? So was the whole world.

The man nodded. “Thank you for your service. I served too, for two years before I went to college.”

Bucky gestured to where the man was standing. “Did you lose someone?”

“My mother. To tuberculosis.”

“This is the anniversary of her death?”

He shook his head. “No. I come weekends that I can. It’s been seventeen years.”

“Does it get easier?”

The man nodded. “Not like they say. It doesn’t hurt less. The pain doesn’t change, you sort of change around it.”

“How poetic.”

The man smiled. “I’m more of an artist, really. I’m a tattoo artist at Daybreak Designs on 112th street.”

Bucky took that moment to take in the man’s appearance. He was about the same height as Bucky, dark hair and tan skin, and wearing mirrored sunglasses. He had a neatly trimmed beard, gauges, and subtle tattoos peaked out of the collar and sleeves of his plaid button up. His clothes were loosely fitted, but suggested of a slim, fit body type. He was attractive, and looked to be in his late twenties, although it was hard to tell while he had his glasses on. “Oh, really? I was thinking of getting a tattoo.” It hadn’t really occurred to him before, but now it seemed like a good idea. Some memorial for Steve, maybe; a private type of gravestone etched into his skin so he could carry a part of him wherever he went.

“Oh! Well…” the man fished around in his back pocket, and pulled out a business card. “The phone number’s at the bottom, there.”

Bucky read the card. “And Jack, that’s you?”

The man—Jack—nodded. Bucky almost expected his name to be something more… _hipstery_ , and it was a little ironic how earlier he speculated that Dodger deserved a name with more personality. He’d only known Jack for a few minutes, but he could say the same of him. “Great. I’ll give you a call. Ah—your tattoo place. I’ll give it a call,” he stuttered.

Jack smiled warmly, and _god_ , Bucky could get used to that smile. It felt like something familiar and something new all at the same time, and was he getting a crush? Bucky did not get crushes. Bucky hadn’t had a crush since…

Steve.

His first, his longest, his _only_ crush.

“I look forward to inking you,” Jack responded, giving a little wave before he turned and left with Dodger.

 


	2. Rusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation and a brunch date.

_“Get a therapist, Bucky. I’m serious. You need to talk to someone about things. Just… fuck, just talk. I get it if you don’t want to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone.”_

Another piece of Nat’s advice that he’d ignored. He didn’t need a therapist, he needed Steve.

But as he walked the two-story flight up to his apartment, he thought perhaps he should talk to someone. His encounter with Jack, the first real, emotional connection he’d had with another person in too long, left him feeling empty. And he always felt empty, but today had left him feeling painfully aware of it. He took a deep breath, opened up the yellow pages, dialled a number, and made an appointment for Monday.

After he ended the call, he was faced with the question of whether he actually intended to call Jack. Not today, obviously, but how long should he wait? Three days? Should he bother? He could hardly consider a man trying to make some business a come-on, but had there been an undercurrent of attraction? Was he so unused to human interaction that he was reading into things too much?

His head hurt, and he kind of wanted to just take a nap and make up for the poor night’s sleep he’d gotten. Glancing at the time on his phone, he realised it had been nearly six hours since he’d last eaten. He ordered a large pizza and watched the traffic from his window until it arrived. He tipped the delivery girl and settled down to watch the first thing that came on TV, mindlessly eating slice after slice until he reached down and his fingers brushed grease-soaked cardboard. He glanced at the empty box and realised that he was quite full, stomach distended and pushed past its normal limit. The bottom of his belly was peeking out in between his sweatpants and Henley, a plump roll of flesh with a smattering of dark hair from his navel down. He ran his hand over the skin, a shiver racing up his spine. He wondered how much weight he had gained. Twenty pounds, maybe. Probably no more than that. He still fit into all his clothes, although he had been wearing only pyjama-like clothing. And if his last meal was any indication, maybe he should go up a size in shirts to make sure they were long enough to pull over his midriff.

But eating that much pizza really _hurt_ , even if the ache did feel kind of good. He massaged his poor stomach, applying pressure to where it hurt most, and…

Okay, he was hard. When was the last time he was hard?

He rolled the waistband of his pants down, allowing his belly more room to expand,

_Oh._

He palmed his dick through his pants with his metal arm while rubbing circles into his stomach with his other arm. It was working. It was weird, but it was working.

Unbidden, Steve flashed through his mind. But it wasn’t the intrusive kind of thought one would expect from thinking of someone dead while masturbating. He wondered perversely what Steve would think of him if he could see him like this. For once, he could think about the blond in an abstract kind of way; not drenched in misery because he was dead, but simply, _I wonder what Steve would say if he saw that I’ve gained weight. I wonder if he would comment._

He sat up a little, allowing his stomach to round out into a tight little ball in his lap, and moved his hand underneath his boxers to get better access. He pinched the small roll of fat on his side, and precome leaked out of his slit. He brushed his thumb over the head and inhaled sharply. He continued his fantasy, a mental sort of suspended animation version of Steve teasing him lightly. _Getting soft in retirement, huh? Just because you quit being a superhero doesn’t mean you have to quit working out._

He knew Steve would likely never had said anything that could have made him feel uncomfortable like that, but God, he almost wanted him to. Here, in the secret isolation of his apartment, he was free to let his mind wander uninhibited into realms of sexual deviation and questionable intent.

He began pumping, and after a short while of experimentation, he felt the pressure build up and he released, letting himself come. He hadn’t orgasmed in a considerable amount of time, but the build-up was worth it. He came so hard his eyes rolled back in his head and his breath caught in his throat, the waves of his climax washing over him for a few seconds extra.

So it seemed that not every part of him was dying, after all. The rusted, broken machine he’d become still had a human heart beating deep inside his chest somewhere. Maybe it had taken a year of grief to start it up again, or maybe it was discovering his love for animals and desire to get a therapist, make a friend, just _live_ after so many months of pushing everything healthy away.

 

On Monday, he knocked on the door of Dr. Orton’s office.

“Come in,” called a voice.

Bucky stepped inside and immediately began scoping the room for weak spots, good areas of defence, and potential exits.

“It’s okay, Mr. Barnes, this is a safe place.” A woman rose from a chair and shook his hand. “I’m Dr. Orton. We spoke on the phone on Saturday. And how would you like me to address you?”

“Bucky, please.”

“Bucky. Won’t you take a seat?”

Bucky settled into the chair opposite her. “Do you know who I am?”

She nodded. “I’m familiar with your work with the Avengers, yes.”

“And the Winter Soldier.”

“Would you like to talk about that?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve had other therapists before, for that. I wanted… well, I wanted to talk about Steve.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it’s been just over a year since his death.”

“How have you been dealing with that?”

Bucky smirked, and looked at her bookshelf, reading some of the titles. “I haven’t, really.”

_That morning, he’d awoken to arms wrapped around him. He turned around into Steve’s embrace and inhaled his scent. The blond had crawled into his bed during the night, slipped out of his own room and into Bucky’s like they used to when they lived together._

_“Good morning, beautiful,” Steve smiled easily, the sun lighting the stray wisps of hair around his face and making him glow._

_Bucky couldn’t understand why he was crying. “I want you to be here, Steve, I don’t want to be alone.”_

_“You’re not, I’m here, Buck, I’m here,” but even as he said it, his voice began to fade like it was coming from somewhere far away._

“And you think that avoiding dealing with Steve’s death is preventing you from moving on?”

“Don’t you?” Bucky had a habit of turning the questions therapists directed at him back at them.

“If you think so, then what would your next course of action be?” And of course, like a professional, Dr. Orton turned it back on him. He didn’t mind, really, he was just tired of the same old tricks and wished they would be sincere once in a while. But it was better than nothing.

They spoke for forty minutes more, until their time was up, and then Bucky shook her hand and scheduled an appointment for two weeks in the future. He left her office feeling a little better, at least, and his pleasant mood gave him the confidence to phone Daybreak Designs.

“Hello, Daybreak Designs, this is Jack, how may I help you?”

For a moment, Bucky was frozen in place. Disembodied, Jack’s voice sounded very similar to Steve’s, or was it just so long since Bucky had last heard him? He forced himself to focus. He was supposed to be letting Steve go. Jack is another person, he reminded himself. Not a replacement, or a ghost. A whole, separate person. “Hi! This is… we, ah, we met in the cemetery the other day? I named your dog.”

“Bucky!” Jack exclaimed, oblivious to Bucky’s awkward introduction. “Absolutely. Did you want to make an appointment for your tattoo?”

Bucky had given a few days of consideration on what he wanted, and decided on something minimalistic; the letters _SGR_ right over his heart. “Yeah, when do you have an opening?”

The other line was silent for a moment, except for the rustling of papers. “I’m actually free for the next two hours, so depending on the size of the piece you were thinking of, you could come right over.”

Bucky tried to ignore the way his heart began racing. “I’d love to. Uh, that sounds great.” He hit himself mentally.

“Great! See you soon!”

 

He found the parlour without issue, in a part of Queens that he’d passed a hundred times before. He stepped in, and Jack greeted him from behind the counter.

“Do you run this whole place by yourself?”

“Pretty much. I have a piercing specialist on staff on weekends, but weekdays, it’s just me.” He lead Bucky back to the room. “Alright, where do you want it?”

“My chest.” Bucky sat up and shrugged off his dark blue long sleeved t-shirt. He heard Jack inhale a little, and he followed his gaze to his metal arm. He hoped it wouldn’t help the artist identify him as the Winter Soldier, but he supposed it was too late, now. “Oh. Yeah, I lost that in the war.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jack breathed, taking a step forward. “Ah, if you don’t mind me saying.” His face turned a pretty shade of pink. “May I?”

Bucky offered his arm up with an air of amusement, watching Jack touch his fingers and turn his hand over. It was interesting to watch him play with it; he supposed that as an artist, the arm would fascinate him, but usually it just scared people. Jack didn’t seem like he would shy away from much.

“Sorry,” he said, letting go, and Bucky’s metal felt somehow colder than usual in the absence of his touch. “So! What were you thinking?”

“The initials _SGR_ , right here.” Bucky pointed.

Jack swallowed, pushing his thick framed glasses up on his nose. Bucky realised that while he wasn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, he was wearing practical glasses (or maybe fake ones; it was hard to tell with hipsters). His eyes were a warm caramel, framed by long, dark lashes and heavy eyeliner. “That’s… a good choice,” he choked, then coughed.  “Mind if I open a window? Little hot.” Bucky shook his head, and Jack cracked open the window, letting in a draft. He pulled the little stool up to the table where Bucky lay, sanitised the area, and inked the letters out with a pen dipped in India ink. He handed him a mirror after he was done. “How does that look?” Bucky nodded, unable to speak. It was perfect. Jack got out the tattoo gun and loaded more black ink. Bucky allowed his mind to slip into one of his blank states, the pain of the gun consistent but only mildly annoying. After a short amount of time, Jack wiped the excess ink away and blew gently to help it dry. He handed him the mirror again.

Bucky touched it, but the serum inside him had already healed it, and it was even with the rest of his skin. Jack, fortunately, didn’t question it. “It’s perfect,” he praised, fetching his shirt from over the back of the chair and putting it back on, suddenly self-conscious. “How’s Dodger?”

Jack grinned. “Great. I’m training him, and he’s a really quick learner.”

Bucky wanted to say something else before it was time to leave, some excuse for the two of them to meet again. He didn’t really want to get another tattoo, but he couldn’t think of a better reason, so he began to speak.

Before he could, though, Jack spoke up again. “I was wondering, um, if you wanted to get coffee, or something, sometime? You can say no, of course… I mean, you can always say no, but—“

Bucky caught him off. “I’d love to.”

“Really? I mean, yeah, okay.”

What a dork. Bucky felt bad for taking advantage of him, but he didn’t want to bring himself to think just why that was true. “There’s this, uh, breakfast café that just opened up near my apartment. I was going to try it out… maybe we could go there!”

“Perfect! Does… are you doing anything tomorrow morning?”

Bucky tried his best not to grin like an idiot. “No, that sounds perfect. I’ll give you directions?” He helped Jack find the place on his phone, and then he paid him for the tattoo and said goodbye till tomorrow.

He felt like his abandoned house was being moved back into. Sure, it was still wrecked, but for once the incessant rain stopped, and the sun shone down on the little cabin. When he got back to his apartment, he faced his reflection and trimmed his beard. It looked good, and just a little punk. He thought that he and Jack would make a good couple.

If only it was Jack that he wanted.

The truth was, the artist reminded him too much of another artist. His hands were too deft, fingers too long and graceful. Bucky couldn’t look at them without seeing Steve’s hands, flying over the pages of some beat to hell sketchbook. He couldn’t see Jack smile without thinking of Steve’s smile, the things that made Steve laugh.

He was reminded of the first few months after Steve’s death. Even after he attended the funeral, it was hard to believe he was dead. Which had _nothing_ to do with being in the “denial” stage of grief, and everything to do with “We’re superheroes who worked for various secret agencies, both of us have been pronounced dead for a period of time and come back to life, and we literally have friends who are supposedly deceased”. For a while, every time he saw the back of a blond’s head, he thought it was Steve, hiding in plain sight in the New York crowd.

Giving up on that dream was painful but necessary, and Bucky supposed this was just the next step in leaving the ghost of Captain America behind.

Jack is _Jack_ , he reminded himself. Not Steve in disguise, come back to life somehow to write his own goddamn name on my chest and then wine and dine me. Just Jack.

 

The next morning, he woke up at four again, showered like it was his religion, went up to the roof, and watched the sunrise. His phone buzzed with a text at around seven with a text from Natasha.

_Hey Bucky. Been awhile. I was thinking of you recently. How are you doing?_

It never ceased to surprise Bucky how loyal she continued to be, even after their fight.

_Hi Nat! That’s sweet of you. I’m doing really well._

A moment or two later, she responded.

_That’s good to hear. Are you talking to anybody?_

Bucky was kind of proud of the answer. _Yes, actually. A psychologist in Soho._

_I’m really glad. Hey, Sam and I were wondering if you wanted to come over to the tower this Friday evening, have some dinner with us, reconnect a bit._

_I don’t know…_ Bucky’s reintroduction as a functional human being was going to take a bit more than one therapy session and a date, even if it was with a really cute, talented, dog-loving guy.

_C’mon, it’s just gonna be Tony, Wanda, Sam, and me. The gang would really love to get together with you._

_Maybe. I’ll get back to you on that._

_Okay. And if you need anything…_

_You’ll be the first to know. Thanks, Nat._

_:)_

He was glad they were friends again, at least. And he swore that the first time he saw her, he’d apologise about being dumb and forcing her out of his life.

He messed around on his phone for a while more, stalking Jack on Instagram (mostly tattoo projects) and then left for the café just a little before eight.

He arrived a few minutes early, but Jack was earlier. He rose from his corner booth and gave him a shy smile, pulling out the other chair. “I ordered you a white chocolate mocha, is that alright?”

Bucky nodded, taking his seat. “That’s one of my favourites, actually.”

Jack sat down in his own chair, sipping a plain Americano.

 _Steve’s favourite coffee,_ a part of his brain said.

The waiter set down his coffee and he liberally added creamer and sugar, then asked if they were ready. Jack ordered eggs benedict, and Bucky ordered a three-egg omelette and a scone.

“You like your coffee sweet, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. “Too many sour things in life not to enjoy sweet food.” _Too serious, Barnes. This is a first date. Ask him about his goddamn family, or something._ “So… you told me about your Ma. Got any siblings?” _Good fucking job. Bring up his dead mother. Maybe he can ask you how Steve is, and if you’ve stopped jerking off to his face yet._

Jack shook his head. “Only child. You?”

“A sister.” After his release from Wakanda, he’d looked up Rebecca. She’d died about thirty years ago, but she had two grandchildren living in Illinois. “She’s gone, too.” He hadn’t come up with a cover story for her cause of death, but fortunately Jack didn’t ask. He didn’t think ‘old age’ would go well.

“What do you do for work?”

 _Attempting to stop myself from having a panic attack._ “Government office work. Sorting, stuff like that. Boring,” Bucky lied. Their version of small talk seemed pained, forced, like they were running down a list of ‘things to know when you’re getting to know someone’ in their heads, mentally checking off things they had no real interest in. Bucky leaned across the table, dropping his voice. “What’s your greatest fear?”

Jack didn’t break eye contact, allowing Bucky to memorise every shade of his hazel eyes. He barely hesitated before answering. “Being useless, unneeded. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to do with myself without instruction.” He took another sip of coffee. Bucky couldn’t drag his eyes away from how small beads of the Americano clung to his moustache before Jack flicked his tongue out and licked them away. “You?”

Bucky could relate. In his retirement, he felt like a soldier without a war. He could never let himself fully relax. Even when he knew he was safe, he would jump at sudden sounds, and keep an eye on the exit at all times. He was afraid of being happy, sometimes; the concept seemed hollow. He couldn’t picture a truly good day without something sinister lurking around the corner, ready to shake him out of a good dream and remind him that he was dead, he was never coming back. What he had with Jack almost seemed too good, but he didn’t want to let himself think about it. “Loss. I don’t deal with it well.”

Jack nodded. “It isn’t easy to live with. It’s hard when you’ve always known yourself as one part to an equation, and then suddenly you’re forced to learn who you are on your own.”

Identity. Bucky never bothered with questions of who he was too much. After he’d uttered the words ‘my name is Bucky’ in that cage, he hadn’t questioned that. And he’d been him for Steve. Steve needed him to be his friend who’d always been there for him, and Bucky wanted to be that person. Since Steve left… it was like Jack said. He never made the time to find his place apart from the Captain. He didn’t want to. Moving on and getting a job, or a pet, or a lover would mean really accepting that Steve was dead.

He enjoyed this much more than the forced questions from before. Now they didn’t have to avoid the words they both wanted to say. “What’s your dark side like?”

Then Jack looked away, uncomfortably fiddling with his camera bag on the booth beside him. He answered anyway. “I’ve never been good at concealing my emotions… but I guess that’s not what you’re asking for. When I was young, I was naïve and I believed good would always win, naturally. As I grew up…” he chuckled humourlessly. “I saw less and less good, even in myself. I lost faith in what I was doing for my country and abandoned everything. I’ve been able to have a life since then, the life I always wanted, but I hate it. It’s empty. The one thing I wanted to keep, I had to sacrifice in order to have this.” He gestured vaguely at the café, generalising his shot at a normal life. “So, pretty selfish.”

“I don’t think that’s selfish. I think it’s brave, to step outside what you’ve always done and find what you’re meant to do.”

Jack smiled sadly. “You might not think that if you knew what I’ve done.”

The waiter returned and set down their plates of food; one for Steve, two for him. Bucky thought briefly that maybe his eyes were bigger than his appetite, but he reminded himself he could always get a box. They paused their conversation to enjoy the first few bites of their food, and then it was Jack’s turn to ask Bucky a few questions.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Hundreds of victim’s flashed through Bucky’s mind, accompanied by the phrase _I remember all of them._ The most notable, of course, being Tony’s parents. A close second was Steve’s broken nose under his fist. _I’m not going to fight you, Buck. You’re my friend._ He could picture Steve beside him, his narrow hips fitting easily in the space between Bucky’s relaxed pose and the faux brick wall. _It wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice._ And it’s not like he could explain to Jack that he was an ex assassin, either.

Unless Jack knew, of course. Unless he’d recognised the arm instantly, asked him out on a date to get some sort of confession, got off on watching him sweat and avoid the obvious answer. Jack didn’t seem like the typo of sicko to do that, his eyes too big and too pretty, but it was possible. It was easier than swallowing the idea that this was the peace Bucky had fought for and finally won.

He shoved that to the back of his mind, trapping it inside a closet with all the other dark, writhing things that threatened to burst through the weak door at any moment. If Jack was just here to exact his justice upon the Winter Soldier, he damn well could try. Until then, he was only wasting his own time. “Dunno. Missed a lot of opportunities. I can think of a lot of times when I stayed quiet,” he lied again. This time, he was thinking of one particular time when he stayed quiet. In countless dreams, he’d fixed that error. _I love you, Steve. Don’t go. Stay with me. I always loved you, even before you were Captain America. I loved you when you couldn’t sleep a whole night through because you couldn’t breathe, or when you crawled into my bed sayin’ you were cold even in the goddamn summer, or every time you came home from another military rejection with that damn kicked puppy dog look on your face._

This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t over Steve. He knew it would take a while, but this was far too soon. It was unfair to Jack. He agreed with himself that he should end it the next chance he got, before things went any further. Cutting another person out of his life would be simple. He’d done it so many times before, with everyone that tried to get close after Steve was gone.

So why did the thought of never speaking to Jack again terrify him so much?

They asked each other more questions, each one deeper and inducing more existential dread than the last, and soon they’d finished their brunch. Bucky didn’t need a box after all, and when the waiter put down the little black book, Jack picked it up. Bucky tried to protest, but Jack insisted, saying that Bucky had contributed by getting the tattoo.

After they left, Bucky was ready to say goodbye and begin ghosting him, but Jack asked if he wanted to take a walk in Central Park.

“I’m not sure…”

“Just for a few minutes? I almost never go. I hate walking alone.” Dammit, was he _pouting_? Bucky was such a goner for those lips.

He faked looking at his watch. “Yeah, sure. I got some time left.”

Jack grinned infectiously, and Bucky found his traitorous mouth curling up in a smile, too. “Great! Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures of you?” he held up his camera, an old Polaroid. “I need some reference poses. Just act natural, walking is fine.”

Bucky nodded, blushing a little. It had been so long since anyone had taken a picture of him just because. There were thousands of pictures of the Winter Soldier, of James Buchanan Barnes, right-hand man of Captain America, but almost none of him just walking in Central Park, long hair being blown in the wind, looking at the ground, catching a stray balloon.

Bucky gestured for Jack to give him his wrist, and he offered his left hand, holding the strap of the empty bag in his mouth and the camera in his right. Bucky tied the string of the yellow balloon loosely around his delicate wrist, making a pretty bow.

“There,” he beamed, second-hand happiness making him more pleasant than his earlier promise to ghost Jack would have liked. “Now you can take the sun with you, even on darker days.” He knew he was being ridiculously sentimental, but there was something about photographs in Central Park that did that to him.

Jack held on to his hand a moment longer, reaching down to brush his lips over his knuckles, beard tickling the skin. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat and he _knew_ there was no way he could ghost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, I’m uncomfortable with the lack of Steve in these first two chapters, too. But fear not, fans of the “Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers” tag! He will play a large part in the next chapter, I promise.


	3. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party and a confession.

_The ground was wet, boot prints filled with water. Flowers grew dense and vibrant from a raised patch of dirt. Time reversed, clouds streaking across the sky in speed motion, shadows racing across the ground as the flowers comically shrank back into unopened blossoms, into buds, into seeds. The dirt receded to reveal his corpse, rotten and grey. Time continued to speed backward, and his flesh spread back over bones and muscle, shapes reforming, sitting proudly on the surface instead of sinking into it, hair returning and fluttering as the wind passed over him, eyes closed, chest taking in a breath of air, mouth opening…_

_Dream._

_Dream his body warm again._

_He reached out, his fingers casting a shadow over the hero’s face, just inches away from those dark lashes…_

Bucky woke up. It was Friday morning, and last night he’d committed to the damn whatever with Natasha. He still had until much later to get ready, but he’d need at least twice that time to prepare for it mentally.

Nat showed up a little before seven, walking in like it wasn’t the first time in eight months they’d seen each other. “Right, do you know what you’re going to wear?”

Bucky quickly sat up on the couch, brushing crumbs off his lap and tugging his shirt down. “Hi to you too. I thought this was casual?”

“It is. But, you know, it’s a party.” She crinkled her nose. “Ugh, smells like cheap beef.” She opened a window and wandered off into his bedroom. “Do you own any real pants anymore?”

Bucky sighed and gave in to the force of nature. “Bottom left.”

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket, and he had to stand up to get it out. He made a mental note to get pants another size up… you know, for comfort room. He checked the screen.

_Hey, Buck! Been a few days. I was wondering if you wanted to catch dinner tonight, if you didn’t have any other plans. Let me know._

_J_

Bucky frowned. “Nat, how long does this thing go till?”

“Dunno. Late?” her voice came from the other room. “Why, you aren’t skipping out on me, are you?”

Bucky didn’t respond, and a moment later, a lock of her red hair was falling over his chest as she peered over his shoulder. “Oooh, Jack? Who’s that?”

“Your mom,” Bucky snapped, shutting off the phone’s display.

Nat threw the outfit she’d picked out for him at his face. “Funny. If you’re bailing to go on a date, I expect you to at least drop by with details and a bottle of cheap wine.”

Bucky grinned, texting Jack right away.

_Sounds great! Where were you thinking?_

His response was nearly instant.

_Actually, if it’s okay with you, I was thinking of cooking something for you._

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.

_Here?_

_Sure! I love the adventure of navigating someone else’s kitchen. Is it okay to bring Dodger to your apartment?_

Bucky enthusiastically agreed, and texted him the address. Jack estimated his time of arrival to be around eight, which gave him and Nat some time to chill out and reunite. He put on the outfit she suggested (or tried to; the jeans pinched, and he tried two more pairs before settling on a size a little bigger than what he would have liked, but at least he could inhale a full breath), and they caught each other up on all the gossip.

At quarter to eight, he tried to kick her out, but Natasha insisted that she wanted to meet his ‘new boyfriend’ (despite his protests that they weren’t _dating_ , not yet, and were less likely to if she scared him off).

Jack showed up ten minutes early, and Bucky heard his cute little shave and a haircut knock. Nat rose to open the door, but Bucky made her sit with a glare. He took a deep breath and turned the knob.

He was wearing his usual mirror sunglasses and balancing two brown-paper bags full of groceries, as well as Dodger’s leash. Bucky grabbed the bag that looked close to spilling and let them in with a laugh. “You didn’t have to bring the whole fridge!”

Jack stopped dead when he saw Nat, and nearly dropped the other paper bag. With a swift jerk of Bucky’s metal arm, he caught it, saving the eggs just in time. Jack limply dropped Dodger’s leash, and the canine trotted over to the couch to begin his journey of scents.

Nat killed the silence first, introducing herself. “Hi. I’m Bucky’s gay best friend, and you’re his excuse to force me to go to a party by myself.” She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows, kneeling down to scratch Dodger between the ears.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’ll survive.”

Jack managed to find his tongue. “I… ah, if you had other plans…”

“Nah,” Bucky dismissed. Even if he wouldn’t jump at any excuse not to get back with the ol’ gang, a night in with Jack sounded perfect.

“It’s okay, Buck. Throw me under the bus,” Jack joked, but the punch fell a little short.

Nat cleared her throat and stood, grabbing her things and blowing a kiss goodbye to Dodger, who was busy sniffing a potted plant. “Well, you two have fun, enjoy your pasta party.” She winked at Bucky, mouthing _you’re missing out_. She fist bumped a rather confused Jack on the way out.

Bucky sighed. “Sorry about her, I—“

Jack grinned and cut him off with a hand. “She’s a good friend, I can tell.”

After exploring for a few minutes, Dodger fell asleep on the couch, and Jack and Bucky fell into a comfortable silence for a while. It was adorable for Bucky to sit back and watch Jack set up everything in the kitchenette, trying to guess where things were in the cramped space. He looked so at peace, completely absorbed in rolling the dough for noodles, preparing the sauce, measuring spices, offering a spoonful of something for Bucky to taste. Bucky felt a pang in his heart at the way Jack looked like he belonged there so perfectly, how he started humming as he methodically turned down the heat on the pan of sautéed vegetables, put the Italian bread in the toaster oven, strained the water out of the noodles. Jack felt familiar like the empty space in Bucky’s bed. It was like the blob-shaped hole in his life that was obscured by his grief was starting to become clearer, and he could see how Jack perfectly fit into the cut out.

Jack spooned noodles onto two plates (two scoops for himself, four for Bucky), poured sauce and vegetables over top, garnished the plates with a few slices of garlic bread, and a sprig of parsley. Bucky poured two glasses of rose wine. It was simple, nothing so complicated that Bucky felt overwhelmed, but every step of the meal was performed with such love and precision that he was touched.

“Jack,” Bucky breathed after he took the plate from Jack’s outstretched arm, brushing his fingers across his knuckles and longing for more contact. “I… this is… thank you.”

Jack smiled, and Bucky was worried that the weight of his gratitude wasn’t conveyed to the extent he wanted to show. “My pleasure.”

Bucky sat down at the table, butterflies in his stomach. He was such a flurry of emotions. He wanted to say something, _do_ something. He wanted to know if Jack was at the same place that he was, but he looked too collected to be half as undone as Bucky felt. He wanted everything to progress, fast forward to the point where he would admit to him how he felt, but he also wanted to pause this moment, slow down their time together forever and just cherish these few precious moments before everything was ruined. As his time with Jack had passed and he grew happier, he felt certain it was the calm before the storm, and inevitably, it would be ruined. He could only pray it wouldn’t be him to do it.

“How is it?” Jack asked.

Bucky’s mouth was full of the creamy sauce, but he moaned around the mouthful in delight. “It’s perfect. Oh my god. I don’t have words, but it’s so good.”

Jack blushed from his collarbone right up to his cheeks (where he was still wearing sunglasses?). “I’m glad you like it. There’s more, if you want.”

Bucky did want, and he steadily made his way through three helpings while they continued their game of asking frighteningly deep questions. It was almost funny, how Bucky could answer none of them with complete honesty, hiding the last 70 years of his life from Jack, but he still found the importance in his half-truths.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever sacrificed?” Jack asked when it was his turn, taking a sip of rose.

“Willingly?”

“Willingly.” Jack repeated.

There wasn’t much in Bucky’s life that he’d given up willingly, or in exchange for something. So much had been taken from him. “Well, I quit my old job. Most of the time, I stand by my decision, but… I don’t know. There are some days I wonder if it was right. I’m in a better place, mentally, but I feel like I’m not doing what I should be sometimes.”

Jack put his hand over Bucky’s across the table. “Listen. You don’t owe anyone anything. You have to take care of yourself. And I don’t know all the details, but I know you made the right choice. You deserve to be safe and happy.”

Bucky felt angry, but it was at himself, rather than at Jack, and he reminded himself not to take it out on him. He was angry he was keeping so many secrets from Jack. How do you say, ‘hey I’m the Winter Soldier, and I was on the Avengers for a while, but when my best friend (who I’m still not over) died and they wanted me to be Captain America I had a breakdown, and now I’m hiding in my apartment and getting fat’? He just wanted to be honest and lay all the cards bare. He had the desire to be exposed before Jack, to be seen by him. He was so tired of hiding, from the public, from his friends, from himself. He hid behind walls both physical and metaphorical, behind his metal arm, behind the forkful of pasta he was putting in his mouth to avoid responding to Jack. He felt the tension inside him rise. He was tired of holding his strength back, and he really kind of just felt like punching through a wall or two. He had felt nothing but silent despair for so long that months of bottled fury was rising to the surface, and he didn’t want to explode in front of Jack.

He shoved it to the room in the back of his head, the attic full of everything he couldn’t deal with until later, but the later ‘later’ was becoming, the worse it would be when he erupted.

“What’s something odd that always makes you sad?”

Jack chuckled. “Whenever I see dogs left in cars or tied up outside of buildings alone. I just want to sit with them until their human comes back.” Dodger rested his head on the back of the sofa, looking at them as if he knew they were mentioning his kind. He gave a sleepy yawn and went back to sleep, and like his master, he seemed to adapt to Bucky’s apartment like a second home.

Bucky felt like that sometimes, a dog tied up and left outside a building. His rational mind knew perfectly well that Steve wasn’t coming back, but he still felt like he was waiting. No matter how many therapy sessions he attended, a small part of him would always be hanging on to the hope that he’d come out of the store at any minute and all his time of being alone wouldn’t be for nothing.

And he realised he found an answer (albeit hypothetical) to Jack’s previous question. That would be the worst thing he’d ever sacrificed. Although he certainly needed time to himself, and didn’t want to constantly be even around his closest friends, the harsh reality was that Steve was gone. And he could miss him forever, but if he allowed the part of himself that was waiting to get in the way of having relationships (or one specific relationship, if he was being honest), that would be the worst sacrifice.

He made himself another promise. In light of his last two regarding Jack, he didn’t have much faith in it, but if it was his own promises he was breaking, he didn’t have much to lose. _I will let myself believe that I deserve to enjoy my time with Jack._

After they were finished with dinner (Jack had finished his single plate a good half hour ago, but he waited politely until Bucky couldn’t possibly finish another bite), Bucky cleared the dishes and was faced with how to quickly come up with an excuse to ask him to stay.

“Do you like movies?” Dodger’s luxurious position on the couch had given him an idea for a similar arrangement.

“Sure!” Jack responded enthusiastically, and Bucky proudly opened the cabinet beside his TV to display a proud arrangement of VCRs. As soon as he began collecting them, Natasha insisted that they were a dying media (“Come on, Bucky, no one even uses _DVDs_ anymore. At least let me get you some blu rays, or Netflix”), but he liked the way the tapes felt, and how easily they could be fixed.

Jack’s eyes immediately lit up when he spotted an old favourite. “The Princess Bride!” he exclaimed, picking up the battered box.

Bucky grinned. He loved that one, too. It had such beautiful, simplistic messages about true love. Even if it didn’t work that way, it was always nice to have the fantasy lands of Florin and Guilder to escape to.  “You want to see that one?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to! I mean, if you’re up for it.”

Bucky put the disc in, and they arranged themselves on the sofa facing the tv. Bucky sat down first, letting Jack set the bar of how close he wanted them to be. Jack sat down on the cushion next to him, their legs about five inches apart. There was certainly enough space on the four-seater couch (save the small space Dodger took up) for Jack to sit further away, so Bucky took it as a good sign.

Over the duration of the first fifteen minutes, Jack gradually got more comfortable and adjusted his legs until his thigh was lightly brushing Bucky’s. He took a sharp intake of breath but didn’t move. Should he pretend not to notice? Should he push back?

Jack had his arms crossed over his chest, but he uncrossed them, wiping his right hand on his pants before dropping it down to the triangular space in between them on the couch. Bucky moved his metal hand from where it rested on his own thigh over to the space, too. Their hands were inches apart, seconds away from touching. Jack opened his hand and titled it toward Bucky. He was finding it hard to breathe, staring down at the dim light from the television glinting off the metal as Vizzini and the Dread Pirate Roberts had their duel of wits.

Then his phone rang, making him jump, and spooking Dodger. Normally, he would have laughed, ignored it, and continued to do… whatever it was they were doing, but he had set the particular ring tone a long time ago.

_The sun had remained stubbornly optimistic, as if rain had refused to fall. Bucky couldn’t think of a single day more deserving of rain, but the birds were singing happily in the late May weather._

_It was the private service for family and friends, although not many of the first category remained. It went on for too long. Bucky just wanted it to be over, he wanted everyone to leave so he could spend more time with him. There was no open casket; Steve had signed a form long ago that said that after death, trusted members of S.H.I.E.L.D could experiment on his body and try to derive a serum from it. Bucky hated the thought of his beautiful body laying on some cold table, being violated as someone dissected it with a scalpel. He tried not to think about it._

_Natasha approached him cautiously. She’d been his ride there. “Are you ready to leave?”_

_Bucky shook his head. “I’m not going back to the Avengers tower.”_

_“Not yet, or…?”_

_Bucky shrugged. “I don’t think ever. It doesn’t feel like home, anymore. I can’t.”_

_It was the first he’d mentioned it to Natasha, but the first moment he walked into his apartment after Steve died, he knew he couldn’t live there. He’d already packed up all his things and sent them to an apartment in Queens he rented._

_“Should I tell Tony you’re taking a break for a while?”_

_He was so goddamn grateful for Natasha. Not once had she asked him if he was okay about Steve. Of course he fucking wasn’t, and she knew that. She was all business and no emotion, allowing him to hold onto the few shreds of dignity and humanity he had left._

_“Yeah, thanks. But, um… if there’s ever something you need my help with…”_

_“You’ll be the first to know.”_

 

He hadn’t heard that tone since the night of the funeral. It was the sound signalling the line that Vision used under the most dire of circumstances, when the Avengers needed the help of the Winter Soldier.

His face paled. “Shit… Jack, I’m sorry, it’s an emergency… I have…” He sprung up from the couch, exciting Dodger, who pricked up his ears and ran after him into his bedroom. Bucky grabbed the backpack from his closet that he kept his costume and his most beloved weapons in as Jack commanded Dodger to come back to the living room. “I have to go.” He accepted the call and ran out his door and down the flights of stairs, accepting the call and listening to the debrief.

 

\--

A little before midnight, Bucky limped up the stairs, cursing the broken elevator. Sam (to his utter disdain) had flown him to his apartment, saving him the trouble of walking the seventeen blocks from the back alley where the alien apocalypse had been narrowly avoided. They were right to call him for help, and he was lucky to end the fight with only superficial wounds.

He finally reached his apartment, clutching his side with his organic arm and grimacing at the blood he’d dripped on the white carpet. He’d lost his key, and his apartment was locked from the inside, so with a crunch and a twist of metal, he broke the knob off his door, stepping inside.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that Jack might still be there, so he hadn’t bothered to change out of his old (and slightly ill-fitting) costume, stepping into his apartment and dropping on the couch. He looked around sleepily and saw with an air of surprise that the entire apartment was clean; the living room and adjoined dining room and kitchen were free of trash, the dishes had all been dried and put away, the cobwebs had been swept out of the corners, and even the windows sparkled.

Bucky heard a whining sort of bark, and looked up to see Dodger trot over from his office. He laid his head on Bucky’s lap, sadly licking at a scrape on his arm. Jack emerged from the office a moment later with—of all things—a bottle of Windex in one hand. His face looked stricken.

Bucky jumped, suddenly aware of the fact that he was fully donned in head-to-toe Winter Soldier, and if the metal arm hadn’t made it click before, Jack _had_ to know now.

To his credit, however, Jack didn’t blink. “Are you okay? I was so worr-“ his expression dropped as he saw the blood all over Bucky. “Oh my god, what happened?” he disappeared into the bathroom and returned a second later with hydrogen peroxide and a first aid kit. Dodger followed him there and then back, like Bucky had two concerned nurses looking after him.

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay. Most of it isn’t mine.” (He was hoping Jack wouldn’t fixate on the small fact that that meant his sort-of boyfriend had just _killed_ a considerable amount of creatures, human or otherwise.) “I, uh, didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Jack blushed, signalling for Bucky to take some of the armour off. “I didn’t know what to do after you left, so I figured I’d hang around unless you needed something. And, um, I did the dishes that you washed, and then…” he chuckled nervously. “I’m a bit of a stress cleaner. I’m sorry if we creeped you out.” Dodger hopped up on the couch next to Bucky, rolling over for a belly rub.

Bucky nearly laughed out loud at the idea of Jack cleaning his entire apartment out of worry freaking him out. It was absolutely goddamn adorable. What wasn’t adorable was some fucking assassin coming back from his latest kill (never mind that he was on the ‘good’ side now) covered in blood. But Jack acted like it was the most natural thing in the world, kneeling before Bucky on the floor (and damn if that wasn’t an image he’d like to be treated to more often), cleaning his various cuts and bandaging them without asking for a single explanation.

“I’m sorry I ruined our t-time,” Bucky said miserably, stuttering on the ‘t’ and almost saying ‘date’ as he obliged Dodger’s request.

Jack waved that thought off with his hand. “Don’t apologise. What you had to do was far more important. And… thank you. I know it couldn’t be easy, but I believe you did the right thing then, and you did the right thing tonight.”

It wasn’t immediately apparent what Jack was talking about, but the most obvious thing seemed to be that Jack was thanking him for saving the city. Maybe he had known all along that he was the Winter Soldier, but maybe… he didn’t mind?

Bucky put his metal hand on top of Jack’s, sanitising an area of scorched flesh on his thigh. He could hear Jack’s breath catch in his throat as he parted his lips and blinked, and looked up at Bucky from under his dark eyelashes. Bucky began to lean down, but Jack stopped him with a hand on his chest.

 “Bucky, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Bucky’s heart, which had been soaring somewhere above his apartment building, immediately fell. But it didn’t crash. That nagging little voice in the back of his head was chanting _I told you so, I told you that you didn’t deserve this, I told you there was a downside. You were stupid for thinking that you could have him without anything going wrong. You don’t deserve this with him, not after everything you’ve done. You’re the Winter Soldier, and that’s all you’ll ever be no matter how hard you try. Steve was the only thing keeping you human, keeping Bucky alive, and he’s gone, and he’s never coming back—_

Jack sighed, not meeting him in the eyes. “There’s no good way to say this. I’m…” _straight._  “Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat? Noooo one could have guessed that plot twist x’D I’m pretty bad at hiding things—every time I tried to type ‘Jack’ I accidentally typed ‘Steve’, so I wouldn’t be surprised (just like you guys with that reveal) if there’s a few in there that I missed.


	4. Daybreak (Steve POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gives some well-needed answers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the secret is out, I'll switch back and forth between Steve and Bucky's point of view. I'm also updating the tags to indicate Steve is alive.

The world stopped for a moment, and Steve held his breath. He’d played over this scenario a thousand times in the last year, methodically going over every possible reaction. He watched a world of expressions pass over Bucky’s face, the largest of which being confusion. “What?” he stammered.

“I’m Steve,” he repeated. “Don’t tell me you forgot me _again_ ,” he added with a weak chuckle.

 “I… don’t understand…” he sat back on his chair.

Steve rose up from his knees to stand, putting a hand out toward Bucky’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You look a little…”

Bucky retched, bringing up his metal hand to cover his mouth. Steve immediately ran to the bathroom, grabbed the trash can, and came back before Bucky could get up. He offered him the can and tied his hair back from his face.

Dodger had been disturbed from his rest from all the commotion, but he seemed to realise that things were more peaceful than they had been, and he turned his attention back to the nature program running quietly on the tv.

Steve put a cool hand on the back of his neck, helping him breathe like he was trained to do when someone had a panic attack. Once Bucky calmed down a little, Steve pulled over another chair and sat across from him, resting his elbows on his knees. He nervously cracked his knuckles, waiting for Bucky to speak first. When Bucky made eye contact, he gave him a smile he hoped was reassuring, but he felt his heart wrench.

Bucky bolted forward, and at first Steve thought he might throw up again, but instead, Bucky dove in for a hug, embracing him and crushing him into his seat. Tears flowed uninhibited from his eyes, and he didn’t care. After a moment or two, he hadn’t _nearly_ had his satisfaction in holding Bucky, but the soldier pulled back, and took a good, long look at ‘Jack’.

“So, what, did you get plastic surgery?” Bucky frowned a little. “I’m gonna miss your face.”

Steve laughed, bringing up his hand to touch a small button hidden behind his ear. White hexagons flashed across his face, revealing the clear, gel-like mask underneath. He peeled it off, then pulled down on his lower eyelid with his middle finger, and removed his contact with his forefinger before doing the same to the other eye. He deposited the mask and contacts on the coffee table next to them, and returned his gaze slowly over to Bucky, breathing in deeply, frightened of what he would say.  

Bucky gently brushed over Steve’s cheekbone with one thumb, and Steve screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to lean into the touch. “Relax, Steve,” He heard Bucky command, and before he could even make up the decision to do so, he found himself obeying.

Bucky had called him ‘Steve’ for the first time in over a year, and as he opened his eyes, it was like he was himself again. Being Steve had never really felt complete without Bucky anyway, and he felt like he had really died at the battle with Thanos, and he was coming back to life right now, resurrected by Bucky’s touch. He opened his eyes and took a breath, studying Bucky’s face with the same scrutiny that Bucky studied him. He looked different, he knew. Bucky looked different too.

He’d been ignoring that small fact for the past week or so, but now that they were looking at each other with new eyes he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it any longer. Bucky had gotten _soft_. He was worried the soldier would collapse in grief, run away to another country and starve to death in some hole. And although it was clear that Bucky wasn’t the perfect model of mental health, he was glad to see that he’d been eating, at least. And eating quite a lot, apparently.

He felt guilty, looking at him and knowing that the weight was mostly his fault, but he felt even guiltier knowing he _liked_ it. Bucky looked good with the extra weight; soft and warm (yet still intimidating) and like he didn’t quite realise how much weight he’d put on.

Bucky drew his hand away from his face, and the long moment ended as he sat back in his own chair. Steve wondered briefly if he should say something. It had certainly seemed that Bucky had intended to kiss Jack, but Steve felt that it might be wrong to try to continue that. He’d missed him _so, so_ much in ways he didn’t even know how to express, and he didn’t want to get Bucky caught up in the mess of his emotions.

“So… how’d you do it?”

Steve sighed. The whole complicated tangle of events had been stuck inside his head for so long. He knew it would be good to get it out, to make it seem like more than just a dream. Some days he hadn’t been sure that he wasn’t actually Jack, just dreaming that he’d once been a captain. “A little before the fight with Thanos, SHIELD contacted me and basically told me to retire, or they would retire me. Apparently, they weren’t happy with my opposition during the Sokovia Accords, and they doubted my loyalty to the team and my usefulness as Captain. I agreed that maybe it was time to step down, offer my service in other ways. But that wasn’t enough for them. I had to drop off the grid. They wanted me to relocate to one of their safehouses in Europe. But… I couldn’t do that to you,” he paused for breath, gauging Bucky’s reaction. “Or to the team. So I made a deal with them. They would let me stay in America if I promised to go undercover full-time, and never speak to anyone on the team ever again.” He prayed Bucky wouldn’t be mad.

But the leather-clad man just nodded, taking the information in. “So if they find out you’re talking to me…?”

“I’ll disappear.”

“You’re risking a lot.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Steve felt tears stinging his eyes, and he should have known he wouldn’t be able to control his persistent little crush that crossed countries and memory and time.

 “So no one can find out?”

It had been relaxing spending a year as a civilian, but Steve grew restless, itchy. He felt pointless, opening up a tattoo parlour and pretending like he wasn’t a soldier without a war, an agent without an assignment. He’d yearned for his old friendship with the team, but honestly, it was mostly Bucky he missed. “No one. I’m sorry, but I shouldn’t even have come out to you, really. It’s too soon, but I couldn’t…”

Bucky shrugged. “I understand. SHIELD’s after you. I can keep your secret, don’t worry.”

Steve knew. Bucky had always been good at keeping secrets. He was reminded of a confession back in 1939, on a night when they threw rocks into the East River.

 

_“Who knows?” Bucky asked._

_“No one. I shouldn’t even have come out to you. I don’t want to bother you with stuff.”_

_“Steve—“ he couldn’t explain the rush of euphoria he felt at Bucky easily transitioning to his real name “It’s not a bother. I’m glad you told me, really. I’m happy you trusted me, pal.”_

_Steve’s eyes were damp. “I wish I wasn’t like this.”_

_“Fuck that. You’re the best fella I know, honest. It’s gonna be tough, other kids givin’ you shit, but I_ always _got your back, ya here that? I know you always got somethin’ to prove, but when there are fights you can’t handle, you get me, okay? I can keep your secret. Don’t worry.”_

Steve grinned. “I know you can, Buck.” Things had changed. He’d dyed his hair, gotten a sleeve of tattoos, finally budgeted for top surgery, but his friendship with Bucky was as natural and strong as it had ever been. He glanced over at the clock. Two in the morning. He should probably go home, give Bucky some time to process—

Bucky stood, clapping his hands lightly. “Well, I’m starving, and I’m clearly not getting’ any sleep any time soon. I’m gonna have a snack. You want anything?”

Steve didn’t really want anything more than to watch Bucky eat, but he really should be going. “I don’t know, Dodger probably needs to get home…” They both looked over to where the German shepherd slept deeply on the sofa. It was a weak excuse, but it wasn’t like he could ask to stay. _This isn’t 1938. You don’t live together anymore._

Bucky shrugged. “You could just crash here until morning. You might as well, you’ve already made yourself at home.” He gestured at the forgotten bottle of Windex on the floor.

Steve blushed furiously. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” he protested.

“Hell no. I’m too damn sore not to sleep in bed,” Bucky grumbled amiably, patting the couch. “You got work tomorrow?”

Steve nodded. “Saturdays we open at noon though, so I can get some decent sleep.”

Bucky told him where to find extra pillows and blankets, and Steve made up the couch while Bucky made his snack (which looked more like a regular meal). Soon, he and Dodger were very cosy, and although the dog wasn’t the cuddle buddy he would have liked, he was happy just to be there in Bucky’s apartment. Bucky bid him goodnight and went off to eat in his own bedroom. After a few moments, Steve shut out the light. His imagination ran away with him, and he fantasised that any moment, Bucky would come out of the bedroom and slip into the sofa next to him, pressing his thicker body against Steve’s. But soon he fell asleep, and daybreak came without event.

 

\--

He had no idea what time Bucky would come out of his room, but at nine he woke, walked Dodger, and again faced the task of mastering Bucky’s kitchen. He made pancakes, as an apology, as a peace offering, as a reminder of the way things were in the Avengers tower when they’d wake and eat before going to train.

Bucky came out of his room a quarter before ten, wearing grey sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt, showing just how far away things were from the Avengers tower. Steve couldn’t have minded less. Bucky wore clothes two sizes too small, stomach gently rounding outward, hard planes of a former Avenger softened into squeezable rolls, chin doubling sweetly when he looked down, eating food like a starving man (although that could hardly be true). Steve wondered how much weight it was. It was hard to tell under the layers of clothing he always wore, the tight confines of his leather armour, but if he had to guess, he’d wager around forty pounds. He felt responsible for each one, in the best and worst way.

 “Morning!” Steve greeted cheerfully. “Hungry?”

Dodger greeted him happily, licking his hand when Bucky bent down to ruffle his ears. Bucky smiled. “Sure. You didn’t have to make breakfast.”

“I like cooking in your kitchen.” It was true. At his own home, Steve often felt uneasy, uncomfortable. Sleeping on Bucky’s futon had been the best sleep he had in ages, and for once, he didn’t feel so alone. It was strange to be at a part of their relationship where he wanted to move in together, but felt like it would be impolite to ask. Bucky had built a new life without Steve or the Avengers, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Steve set down some pancakes on Bucky’s plate and garnished them with syrup, powdered sugar, and two strawberry eyes and a blueberry mouth. He knew he could have just given him two plain pancakes, let him doctor them up himself, but he always went an extra step for Bucky. He flipped another pancake, tending to the second serving he was hoping Bucky would want.

Bucky eagerly cut into the pile, discovering the chocolate chips Steve had hidden on the underside. He was surprised, and Steve couldn’t help but be pleased with himself. “Holy shit, I haven’t had chocolate chip pancakes since—“

“Your 18th birthday, I remember.”

“God, Steve,” Bucky exclaimed between syrupy bites. “I didn’t really have time to process it yesterday when you told me, but I was thinking about it all last night.” He forked himself another mouthful, and got up to make coffee. When he reached above the microwave to get out the coffee machine, Steve was treated with the image of his shirt lifting up, showing his delicious underbelly. “I can’t even describe how glad I am that you’re alive.”

Steve gulped, transferring the pancake to an empty plate and starting on another. Guilt from several different sources washed over him again. “I’m so, so sorry I lied to you.”

Bucky reached over to his plate and ate a quarter of a pancake in one bite, mostly preoccupied with the coffee. “I’m honestly so relieved I can’t be mad. But anyway, I was wondering… where does that leave us?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. He knew this was a crucial point in his reintroduction to Bucky’s life, but he wanted so badly not to say the wrong thing. He couldn’t spend another twelve months regretting a decision with every breath.

Bucky let him take his time in pondering the question over, sitting back down and finishing his first and second pancakes quickly. As he began cutting the third, Steve absentmindedly transferred two more onto his plate. Bucky gave a noise of hesitation, his mouth full of pancake. “No more, thanks.”

Before Steve could stop himself, he heard himself say “C’mon, you can’t be full _already_.”

Bucky glanced over at him, and Steve’s snapped his eyes up from Bucky’s middle. “I’ve already had three pancakes. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

Steve swallowed. It was probably a rhetorical question, but he wanted to pour syrup on top and say _no, I think you need to eat until you can’t manage another bite,_ watch him eat until his cheeks turned red and his breath shortened like it had the night before, where the _fuck_ was this coming from?

He’d always kept his obtrusive feelings for Bucky away, and his feelings had never come across as anything more than platonic, or at least he hoped. But this last week, it had been nearly impossible. Maybe it was the setting of Bucky getting to know Jack as a potential partner, or the joy of reconnecting with his dearest friend after so long, or (much more likely) the way that Bucky had gotten even softer than he’d been after Bucharest, how he’d unwittingly tapped into Steve’s most carnal fantasies.

Yeah, it was probably just his emotions trying to deal with seeing Bucky again.

“I think you should have as many as you want.”

Bucky paused, and then continued onto his fourth pancake.

Steve was vaguely hungry, so he began to cut into his own, rather plain and mildly burnt (he’d been slightly distracted by the way Bucky was adjusting his sweatpants, but at least they were more forgiving than those jeans he’d worn yesterday) breakfast. The coffee finished percolating, so he poured them two mugs. Bucky finished his fifth pancake and sat back, sipping his highly-sugared coffee. Steve didn’t miss the way his belly stretched the fabric of his shirt more than it had before.

Steve waved his spatula a little. “More? There’s only three left.”

Bucky raised one eyebrow, trying to look casual, although Steve could hear him panting lightly.

 _Come on, you didn’t gain weight like this from stopping after five pancakes._ Steve didn’t know why Bucky had the sudden change in appetite, and he didn’t know what it was bothering him this much.

“I know you can eat more than that,” Steve teased, but it was true. He’d seen Bucky eat until he was almost in pain a handful of times, and he’d never fully understood why it always made his brain shut down.

Bucky smirked. “That a challenge, Rogers?”

“Might be.” Steve laid the pancakes on Bucky’s plate. Since when was he coy? Steve was never coy. He was awkward, and sentimental, and never got hot off his friends eating too much breakfast.

But Bucky had never looked at Steve before the way he looked at Jack when they flirted, the same way he looked at him now. Steve wouldn’t normally have thought that daring someone to eat clearly past the point of comfort was a form of flirting, but it felt just like that, an undercurrent of desire and attraction tainting both their careless remarks.

After Bucky finished, he dropped the fork and groaned. “God, fucking full.” He grimaced, adjusting his position on the stool, but there wasn’t nearly enough room to stretch out. Steve wanted to touch his stomach, spread his fingers over the tight expanse and help with the digestion. “Feels…” he muttered, following it up with something too quiet for Steve to catch, but it almost sounded like he said that it felt good.

Steve’s phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump. He checked the time on the microwave, which read 11:30. “Oh, um, I gotta…” he began quickly putting dishes in the sink, and with the motion, Dodger began running in excited circles near the door.

Bucky nodded, slowly getting off his chair and dumping his mug in the sink. “Right, work. Go ahead, don’t be late.”

Steve didn’t want to leave so abruptly. He was on the edge of something, he knew it. He felt like Bucky was the answer to every question he had, and he wanted to stay more, talk things out and confront his chaotic mess of emotions, attempt to answer Bucky’s previous question about where they were. He was about to apologise yet again, but Bucky stopped him before he began.

“I know you’re probably busy, but I want to hang out more. It’s been great seeing you, even if I didn’t know it was… you. Text me, we can hang again sometime.” He scratched Dodger’s itchy spot as Steve gathered the last of his things.

He couldn’t agree enthusiastically enough, and before he could be embarrassed about how quickly he agreed, Bucky beamed back and returned his enthusiasm and he was out the door.


	5. Furnace (Bucky POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky make a cake.

Weeks passed, and Bucky’s question went unanswered. He didn’t want to push Steve, of course. He would rather give him the time to come up with an answer that would be better off for them both than rush Steve into anything. He’d been trying to prepare himself for the ultimate answer Steve would give him, even if it was one he didn’t like.

They continued to see each other every few days. At first, it had thrown Bucky for a loop when Steve showed up as Jack, but he remembered that of course he couldn’t be seen with his own face in public. He always preferred it when they saw each other in the privacy of their own apartments, where Steve could show his face unrestricted. After Steve had left for work that Saturday, he’d texted Bucky nearly instantly, all pretence of trying to seem casual gone. Bucky was relieved for the sincerity. Waiting three days and carefully measuring your responses, gritting your teeth just to stop yourself from double texting, and playing other bullshit games was the type of thing he would do with someone he was getting to know, not his closest friend since childhood. Both their restraint was gone, and Bucky enthusiastically agreed to another meet-up. Steve suggested a restaurant a few blocks away, and while Bucky had certain reservations about making all their time spent together food-related, it meant that he didn’t have to worry about making awkward conversation when his mouth was full. Not that it was awkward; despite the things that went unsaid between the two of them, they quickly found enough common ground to build their friendship back up.

If realising in Central Park that he liked Jack made him worry that something awful was about to happen, that was nothing compared to how frightened he was now that Steve was returned to him. But his fear couldn’t touch his elation over knowing that he was _alive_.

When July came, they’d seen each other almost every week for the last two months, and they’d gotten food together nearly every time. His wardrobe had given up the ghost mid-June, and he’d methodically gotten new clothes, putting off thinking about why. All he knew was that food had been the only thing keeping him sane the year before, and although he didn’t need to use it as a crutch anymore, there was still that strange association he’d built up between food and sex. And now, Steve was thrown into the mix.

It didn’t help that that trifecta of ‘important things in Bucky’s life’ had returned all at the same time, and Steve wasn’t making things any better by constantly blurring the lines. He would have been mad about the way that Steve had avoided his answer about defining the relationship and then flirted with him on all their dates if he wasn’t enjoying it so much. And he would have called Steve out on it, but he wasn’t even 100% sure it _was_ flirting. If it had been anyone but Steve, it would have been easy to tell. With Jack, it was easy to tell. Their hands would meet and he’d wait a moment before taking his away, or he’d always make eye contact when he laughed, or he’d say sweet, sentimental things that would make Bucky take a deep breath and repeat it in his head like a mantra, memorising it forever.

But with Steve, of course, he couldn’t fucking do anything the easy way. Good thing Bucky loved him so goddamn much. Steve kept teasing him in weird… really erotic ways. He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be erotic, but something about the way Steve would look at him while asking if he wanted a second (or, more likely, a fourth) helping of something made Bucky’s stomach do flip flops. Or maybe he had just eaten too much fucking food. That was definitely possible.

There had been that time at the Mexican place, and Bucky had three burritos, and then Steve ordered two more to go and accidentally left them in Bucky’s Uber. Then he texted him to ask if he enjoyed them. Bucky would’ve been insulted at the implication that he’d eaten them already if he hadn’t done just that. Then there was the time they went for ice cream, and Steve was closer to the drive-thru, so he asked Bucky what he wanted, and Bucky couldn’t decide between coffee, chocolate, or moose tracks, and Steve had ordered a cone with all three. And then there’s always those times where things go from light teasing so quickly to something else that Bucky didn’t notice when they were standing so close, or how Steve’s hand got on his belly, patting it gently and offering him the rest of his fries. At first he’d been shocked at all the teasing. It was an entirely new aspect to their relationship, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

A few days before Steve’s birthday, Bucky was at the grocery store, shopping for things to make a cake for him. He was in the baking aisle, conflicted between confetti cake mix and marble swirl, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“No, no, no. You can’t get _cake_ mix. That stuff has worms.”

Bucky spun around to see ‘Jack’s’ horrified expression. “Never did me any harm.”

Steve’s brown eyes flicked down to his waist and back, a small smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. “Trust me, cake from scratch is much… more decadent.”

Bucky sighed, putting the boxes back. “What do you suggest, Mr. Baking Purist?”

Steve grinned. “C’mon, I’ll get you some ingredients and I can teach you to make it at my place.”

Bucky paused, not wanting to let Steve know that the cake had been for him. He quickly recovered, smiling easily. “You just want to get me in your kitchen.”

“Now why would I want that?”

Goddammit, Steve had him good. Bucky had always loved how adorable he was when he was shy, tripping over his words when he was talking to a pretty dame, always so polite and respectful.

This Steve had a bit of an edge to him, made Bucky want to stand close enough to let his swell of a belly (especially after the enormous lunch he’d had) brush up against Steve’s arm, demand that he stop acting like he didn’t want him. The sexual tension was driving him insane, and he had to think about Tony Stark to calm him down. Tony Stark always got him as flaccid as ice water.

“It’s all part of your scheme to prove to the world the Winter Soldier likes baking.”

Steve threw up his hands in mock-defeat. “It’s true. I’m dying to get a picture of you with flour on your metal arm.”

“Villain. No one would ever take me seriously again.”

Steve bit down on his lip, but Bucky could see a twitch of a smile anyway. “Right. Because you look super intimidating right now.”

Bucky would have to agree with him. A few months ago he just looked pathetic. Now he looked… well, too rounded out to be scary. But he knew he was still strong, even if his muscles were hidden under another recent layer of padding. “I could still beat your ass.”

“In an eating contest, maybe.”

Bucky couldn’t believe it. They’d been dodging around the topic for weeks. Steve always alluded, but never explicitly stated. It should be mean. He should be offended. But all he was was so turned on he could barely come up with a retort of his own. “You callin’ me fat, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve responded immediately, following it up with “…not yet.”

Bucky knew. He’d weighed himself a while ago. It had been more than twenty pounds, that was for sure. And all these dates with Steve, it had to be even more than that. Probably fifty. By some people’s standards, he might’ve crossed over the line of ‘yet’. He was chubby, definitely. His therapist had been concerned at first, but she came to the conclusion that he was just settling into a comfortable weight, finally seeing his body as more than the Asset. It had taken him a little more convincing that it was nothing to be worried about, that it was natural to put on a few in retirement, and he didn’t need to go on a liquid cleanse or something. After he broke down his Depression-era ideas about what he needed to survive and how he was taking up more than his share, he didn’t really mind it. Clearly, neither did Steve. So maybe he’d sort of unconsciously devised a plan to drive Steve nuts and get him to say something. How long was he supposed to wait? “Well, come on then, I’m hungry.”

Steve chuckled and picked up a bag of brown sugar. “You’re always hungry.” He gestured to tubs of icing. “What colour were you thinking?”

Bucky blushed. He had to admit it at some point. “Red white and blue.”

Steve’s eyes lit up in realisation. “Oh…” he trailed off. “Uh. I’m real sorry, I—“

“Nah, don’t worry about it. And if you want to substitute my lame two-people party I was gonna throw you this weekend for baking over at your place now, I wouldn’t mind.”

Steve smiled warmly, and Bucky’s heart lurched. “Sounds like a perfect party.”

Without so much as consulting a recipe, Steve got the other various ingredients for the cake, and Bucky didn’t miss how he added a few cartons of ice cream and a box of sugar cookies to his cart as well. “For while we bake,” he explained. Bucky knew he had a habit of eating a snack while he was making other food, and it was touching that Steve noticed. Bucky’s apartment was just across the street from the store, but Steve’s was a little farther down, so they called an Uber. The damn thing was a tiny Prius, and they both sat in the back seat, Bucky feeling cramped and too fucking big for eco-safe cars. There wasn’t enough room for all the bags in the trunk, and Steve sat with the box of cookies in his lap. He opened it up and offered a few to Bucky on the way home, who accepted without complaint.

Dodger greeted Bucky excitedly when he came into the apartment, licking the crumbs off his hands. Bucky loved Steve’s apartment. It reminded him of the one they used to live in, only much bigger. Steve was doing well with his tattoo shop. He liked the size of his own apartment just fine, but it was too empty when he was alone. The only time he enjoyed his own place was when Steve was over, but he loved Steve’s home even more. Bucky could have happily spent time by himself there and not felt lonely, surrounded by Steve’s taste of décor.

Steve preheated the oven, and set out all the ingredients. “Okay, big guy, I mix, you stir?”

Bucky’s heart thudded at the nickname. “Sounds good. This arm is pretty great for speed,” he added, accepting the wooden spoon Steve handed him, and blushing profusely when he realised how that might have sounded. He stirred the mixture of wet ingredients, and tried a spoonful of batter. “God, Steve, this is great. Whose recipe is this?”

Steve grimaced. “Don’t eat that, it has raw eggs. Here—“ he reached for the cookie box, to give Bucky a few while they waited, but it was already empty. “Oh. Huh.” Bucky was about to explain himself (somehow), but Steve pulled a tray of blondies out of the fridge. “Try some of these, let me know what you think.”

The blondies, of course, were perfect. Bucky had eaten three before he even thought about it. They were so light yet full of flavour. “Did you become an expert baker during the last year or something?” he exclaimed.

Steve flushed at the praise. Bucky made a mental note for future reference. “Well, I had a ton of time on my hands, and I… I had to keep myself busy. If there was ever a time I didn’t have anything to do, I sort of…”

Bucky knew. He’d been the same way. He had to constantly fill his days with some activity, or he’d become restless and self-destructive. It was almost sweet to know that while he was sitting in his apartment, bingeing on whole pies, Steve was in his apartment making pies. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m really glad we’re friends.” The moment after the sentiment left his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. _Friends?!_ This whole time he’d been waiting for Steve to take the relationship another step, and he’d just gone and friendzoned the captain.

Steve didn’t even pause for a moment before grinning, though. “Me too.” He went back to combining the dry ingredients and giving the bowl to Bucky before greasing the cake pan.

Bucky was left more confused that he would have thought after finally putting a label on things. This couldn’t be what Steve wanted, could it?

He went to the bathroom to clear his head, scowling at the scale in the corner. He stepped on anyway, making his hands into fists and releasing them, watching the red digits flash before settling on 247.

There were two possibilities: either Steve didn’t like him, and he’d completely misread everything, and he was just a good friend trying to help him come to terms with his unhealthy habits; or Steve was very kinky.

He washed his hands slowly, allowing himself more time to think. _My hands smell like Steve’s hands_ , he thought, reading the label of the soap- peaches and sandalwood. Fuck, he was so in love.

He came back into the kitchen and Steve was making the frosting.

“What’s the next step?” he picked the wooden spoon up again.

“You can fold the dry ingredients into the wet ones. How’s this?” He held out the whisk covered in blue frosting. He could have just given it to Bucky to hold, but he held it up to his mouth, and held Bucky’s gaze as the soldier flicked out a tongue to try it. He took it a step further; wanting to get a better hold, he put his metal hand over Steve’s on the handle.

“Mm,” he groaned, sucking the sugary glaze off one of the loops. “It’s perfect.” He hadn’t eaten homemade frosting in so long he couldn’t remember the last time, and it put all pre-made icing to shame.

The pupils of Steve’s blue eyes were so dilated it almost looked like he was wearing Jack’s contacts.

The oven beeped, and they jumped, Bucky’s arm whirring as he returned it to his side. He knew he didn’t have any nerves on his hand, but he could have sworn it felt warm where his hand lay over Steve’s.

He glared over at the oven, cursing its poor timing. How dare the foolish furnace of Steve’s apartment get in the way of the furnace of his desire.

He returned to his bowl and finished mixing the batter, then proudly showing it to Steve when he’d finished. “Guess you weren’t kidding. I know who to call next time I need a mixer.”

Bucky snorted. “And who else would you call, exactly?”

“Jack has friends,” Steve defended, and Bucky made a ‘sure’ expression. “Listen, if you’re getting tired of me—“

Bucky nearly laughed at how far from the truth that was. “We have an entire year to make up on. I am not getting tired of you.” Steve nodded, and Bucky didn’t miss the flash of relief that crossed his features. “Now, how do you layer this thing?”

Steve instructed him, and he began pouring the batter into the round pan, but he poured a little too quickly. Steve came up behind him and put both his hands over Bucky’s, guiding his organic hand to spoon the mix into the pan. They repeated with the next two layers, and then Steve let go so Bucky could put the cake in the oven.

Steve began putting the ingredients away, but he left the blondies on the counter. Bucky snuck one while Steve was turned around, but he turned back too quickly, and saw Bucky put it into his mouth. “Oh, let me get you some milk for that,” he commented casually, like it was normal to watch Bucky eat an entire box of sugar cookies and half a plate of blondies, right before finishing a cake that would probably go mostly to Bucky. He poured Bucky a tall glass, but as he turned to give it to him, Dodger spotted a squirrel beyond the wall-to-wall glass door, and ran past Bucky, bumping into him and making his hand jump. The milk spilled all over his graphic tee, making it cling closely to the round shape of his gut. He sucked in a little, knowing it didn’t do much. Even though the shirt was fairly new and fit considerably better than his skin tight ones before, it was getting harder to hide how big he was getting no matter the size of the shirt (which was XL, his brain helpfully supplied).

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. Uh, here.” He handed Bucky a tea towel from the oven handle. Bucky didn’t really want to take his shirt off in front of Steve, but he knew it should be washed. “I’ll get you a dry one,” Steve remarked before disappearing into his bedroom. Bucky didn’t think too long about how there was no way any of Steve’s shirts would fit him. He miserably worked the wet garment off, wringing it out over the sink. Steve reappeared a moment later, and he knew every inch of his chunky torso was on display, his thick lovehandles that wrapped around a back and the rolls stacked on top of them, how his chubby pecs made a crease where they sat on top of his belly, how it had just started to sag out over the waistband of his pants. When he turned to meet Steve’s eyes, the captain wasn’t even looking at him, gaze fixed ruefully on Dodger at the window as he handed Bucky the t-shirt. His cheeks were dusted with a dark blush.

Bucky took the shirt, holding it by the shoulders to reveal that it was much larger than he expected, maybe even larger than his last shirt. He checked the tag, which read “XXL”. It was a band tee for something Bucky had never heard of, but it made matched Jack’s style. He put it on, and Steve looked at him again. “You can keep it, if you like it. It… um, Dan left it here.”

 “Oh.” _Oh._ Bucky’s mind flashed back to when Steve had said that he had friends. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he might be seeing someone else. “Your boyfriend?”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “No. Hardly. Um, I haven’t even seen him since January. That’s way over.”

So, a one night stand then. Bucky had had a few of those in the year, but he could never focus on anything long enough. It comforted him to think that Steve hadn’t been entirely alone, even if he wished it could have been him keeping him company. “Cool. Good. Yeah, uh…”

Steve stopped him before he could continue, mercifully. “How about you?”

“Me? Oh, god no. Well, I think Nat wanted to try something after… uh, yeah, you know. We were both vulnerable and, she’s nice and all, but…”

Steve laughed. “Gay?”

“Very,” Bucky agreed, relieved. “You?”

“Ugh, who knows. Bi something.”

The tension was gone, and Bucky’s heart fluttered with hope. There it was, clear and in the open. _We’re both single. We’re both options._

The cake finished a few minutes later, and they frosted it together and decorated it with the shield on top. Although Steve had done the majority of the work, Bucky proudly presented it to him. “Happy birthday, Steve.”

Steve blushed deeply, leaned over, and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “Thanks, pal. Hey, think we should put candles on it?”

Bucky snorted, not stopping to think about what had just happened, or he might explode. “Yeah, and light the whole apartment on fire?”

Steve chuckled. “That’s okay, I don’t have 101 candles anyway. I’m… I’m really sorry I missed your 100th birthday party. I would’ve loved to be there.”

“I know, Steve. But hey, you’re here now.”

Steve cut into their cake. “Want to make up for it now?”

Bucky held out a plate as Steve piled a slice that was nearly ¼ of the entire cake onto it. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comics say Steve was born in 1920, but the films say 1918. This is set in 2019, so I just went with Steve’s age as 101 for this. Also, Bucky was born in 1917, but the films pretty much imply they’re the same age, so Bucky is also 101. His birthday is March 10th.


	6. Nine (Steve POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bone, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insecurity trigger warning.

The slice of cake that Steve gave Bucky was so oversized that if he didn’t possess superhuman strength, he might have struggled.

Bucky smiled at Steve and accepted the plate, and his fingertips brushed over Steve, gripping the edge of the ceramic dish. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, and was he really at the point where the smallest of touches could make him this desperate for more?

He swallowed. He’d been trying to reconcile the difference between what he wanted to do and what he should. He knew well enough what the latter would be; he shouldn’t take advantage of Bucky’s emotions, he shouldn’t intrude where there wasn’t a place for him anymore. It seemed like the last eighty years of their life had been cursed by bad timing. Every moment Steve tried to say something, other things got in the way. Now, he could see nothing stopping him from finally confessing everything to Bucky, and that scared him more than he could admit. They’d always been on the edge of death, and he felt stupid for having no reason to hesitate this time.

The last time had been the closest. Right before the battle with Thanos, they’d been sitting in their shared room at the Avengers tower, reading the morning newspaper and solving the crossword like old men.

_Steve had been stuck on the same number for three minutes. He knew Bucky had already finished, flipping past the puzzle section and moving to the cartoons. He promised himself he wouldn’t ask, but knowing the answer would help him figure out the rest._

_“Hey, Buck, what’d you get for nine across?” Six letter word, ‘antonym of malignant’._

_“Benign,” Bucky responded without looking up._

_It surprised Steve how easily Bucky said it, knowing full well that it was the seventh of his eleven trigger words. It was a true sign of how far he’d come in the two years since Zemo. He was more like the Bucky of the forties than ever, now; not that Steve would have asked him to be that Bucky. When he found him in the warehouse, a shadow of fear ate through him, forcing him to wonder if he’d ever see that man again. Here they were, sitting at the counter and eating bagels._

_Now was the time._

_Steve could hear feel his heartbeat in the tip of his nose, and he swallowed nervously. “Hey, Buck, do you maybe wanna…” he realised half through his question that he had no idea where it was going. If it was anyone else, he would have asked them out to dinner. He and Bucky were so far past that point; they'd been living together for the past two years, and a good ten years before that._

_Bucky set his newspaper down and tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Yeah?” he asked, a slight tone of hopefulness to his voice. A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but Steve was more used to Bucky’s voice than his own, and he knew every inflection._

_The phone rang, and Steve answered it eagerly, glad for something to stall him and give him some more time to think about how he was going to finish that question._

_“Grab your suits and meet us in the basement. Thanos is here.”_

Steve cleared his throat. _No more time for stalling, Rogers._ “Bucky.”

Bucky swallowed his first piece of cake. “God, Steve, this is really perfect. It’s kind of awesome that we totally made this from scratch, you know? I’m glad you talked me out of cake mix.”

“Bucky,” he repeated, not fully knowing why. He already had Bucky’s attention.

Bucky’s eyes searched his, waiting for him to go on, but the only word that was filling Steve’s whole mind was the soldier’s name, flooding his senses. He could think of nothing else, and he was vaguely aware of himself saying it over and over, like a prayer.

He reached out one shaky hand, tucking a lock of Bucky’s hair behind one ear.

Bucky’s face was flushed, but it wasn’t from overeating. He couldn’t have been full yet, anyway. “Do it, Steve,” he said softly.

Steve felt like a freight train was rushing inside his head, blood pounding so quickly he almost felt like before the serum when he had heart problems. He moved his hand from behind Bucky’s ear to his cheek, moved closer, tilted his head to the left, and pressed his mouth against Bucky’s.

Steve was relieved when Bucky took immediate control. He’d been afraid of rejection, despite the clear signals Bucky had been giving him for the last month.

Bucky opened his mouth and Steve felt Bucky’s tongue press against his closed lips. A shiver went down his spine as the kiss turned deeper, and he gasped gently into Bucky’s mouth. His hands fell to Bucky’s stomach, fingers stuttering over the straining buttons of his tight flannel, though it wasn’t nearly as tight as it would have been if he was full.

Immediately, Steve felt himself get wet. He was concerned about his ridiculous libido twisting something as sweet as this moment, but then he was interrupted by Bucky’s dick poking him in the thigh, and he reminded himself that with Bucky he never needed to be worried.

Bucky pulled away for a moment and they drank in the sight of each other, undone by the kiss a century in waiting.

“Is this what you want?” Bucky asked, and Steve tried not to whine in response.

“ _Yes,_ Bucky, I’ve wanted this since I was a kid, fuck.”

Bucky pushed Steve a couple of feet until he felt his bedroom door at his back. He wedged one thick thigh between Steve’s legs, and he ground down onto it, feeling his boxers get damp. “You wet for me, Doll?” Bucky growled, his voice blown out with arousal.

Steve had heard nearly the same words for other lips too many times, but he didn’t feel degraded. Everything seemed right when Bucky said it, and he could feel the memories of those creeps late at night when he was still too pretty to pass fading away. “Bucky… I want…” his words turned to a rasping cry as Bucky kissed his neck, right above his collarbone.

“Want what, baby?”

“Want… oh! God, Buck, _yes_ -“

“What do you want?”

“Want—want to feed you cake,” Steve groaned, and then inhaled sharply. He meant to say ‘want you inside me’, really. His stupid libido was taking over his mouth now.

But Bucky didn’t seem to mind. He just grinned and tilted his head to the side. “I knew you were into this, you kinky bastard.” He arched his back, pressing the whole of his still-soft belly into Steve’s flat abs.

Steve moaned and fisted his hands into the fabric at Bucky’s sides, but there wasn’t nearly enough to grab, and he found himself clutching flesh.

Bucky opened the door to his bedroom and stepped inside. “Grab the cake, and meet me inside,” he called before shutting Steve out.

He’d been operating at a thousand miles a minute, and he took a few breaths, shaking his head. _This is real. This is happening._ He wanted to savour every moment. He was half worried it would go by faster than he could take it in, but he also had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time.

He picked up the cake they’d made together, and opened the door to his bedroom.

Bucky was fully naked, gorgeous gut on display, stroking himself as he was propped up against Steve’s headboard.

Steve had to clutch the plate the cake was on with both hands to keep from dropping it. His eyes wanted to focus on so many things; the drops of precome beading out of the head of Bucky’s cock, the scars scattered throughout his pillowed body, the soft layer of fat that graced all his surfaces. He told himself he’d explore each area with his tongue later.

Bucky grinned and patted the bed beside him with his organic hand, still stroking himself with his metal one. Steve hurried to his side, putting the cake on the nightstand.

“No fork?” Bucky questioned. Fuck, Steve forgot. He went to get up and fetch one, but Bucky stopped him with a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, you can feed it to me with your hands.”

Steve braced himself by putting one hand on the soft-as-velvet part of Bucky’s tummy underneath his belly button, thumb running over the dark hair that travelled there. With his right hand, he dug his fingers into the moist marbled sponge of the cake, grabbing a handful and carefully transferring it over to Bucky’s mouth. He pushed the ball of cake inside his mouth. After he swallowed, he returned his tongue to Steve’s hand, licking the crumbs off and sucking on his forefinger. Steve tried to stifle a giggle as Bucky’s tongue tickled his palm.

Steve clutched another handful with more frosting, letting Bucky taste the subtle differences in flavour for each colour. He continued to feed him, spread out like an angel on his bedspread until just a little over half the cake was left.

Bucky was panting, eyes heavy-lidded, and Steve was reminded that he’d consumed an entire box of cookies and most of a plate of brownies before this. He readjusted himself to run a finger over the initials right over Bucky’s quickly beating heart, not missing the way the soldier’s blush deepened. Then he gave Bucky’s enormous stomach some attention, licking stretchmarks and spreading his fingers over the vast expanse of his tortured gut and massaging circles into the knots of undigested food.

Bucky tugged at his shirt. “Off,” he huffed.

Steve sat up and crossed his arms over himself, pulling off his v-neck. Bucky reached up and brought him down, moving to his side to run his arm over Steve’s body. Steve loved how Bucky’s stomach mounded up in front of him on the bed, reaching out to kiss his own abs.

Bucky’s organic finger traced over the sleeve of tattoos on Steve’s left arm, eyes chasing the lines his finger followed, and he stilled when he found Steve’s favourite tattoo where it decorated his shoulder. It was a red star, lines through it mimicking metal plating, and the letters _JBB_ inscribed over the flat surface of the right point.  

“Steve,” Bucky breathed.

Steve looked down, and he could feel his face turn as red as the star. “Oh. Missed you,” he said with a shrug, and then crashed back down onto Bucky to give him another kiss, their beards scraping together. Bucky moaned and Steve adjusted himself around the soldier’s very full stomach.

“Fuck, why haven’t we been doing this all along?” Buck complained as Steve seated himself in between Bucky’s enormous thighs and peppered kisses along the stretchmarks there.

Steve felt a pang of guilt, as familiar as the face he had to put on every morning just to leave his apartment. “I’m so sorry, Buck. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you eighty goddamn years ago, but the truth is… I love you.”

Bucky reached down around his belly to tweak Steve’s ear. “I love you too, Stevie. You’re worth waiting for.” Steve grinned like it was his birthday, which it actually was. “Now blow me, you sap,” Bucky commanded, but he was still smiling.

Every part of Steve had been so attuned to Bucky for so long that nothing felt more right than doing as he was told. It was an instinct that had kept both of them alive during the various years they’d served battle together, training himself to always hear Bucky’s voice before anyone else’s, knowing what he needed to do before he was even told. For a year he had felt purposeless settle around his neck like a noose, tightening a little each morning when he woke and looking out at a burning cityscape that he wasn’t there to save. It had taken him just until now to realise that saving New York wasn’t the purpose for which he was born; it was saving Bucky.

He obeyed instantly, moving his kisses from Bucky’s inner thigh right to his blushing cock. Steve felt cool metal fingers ruffle through his hair, and guide his head gently to swallow Bucky down. He licked a stripe up the underside, tonguing the vein, then opened his mouth over the head and worked his mouth down, setting up a rhythm.

He heard a litany of praise fall from Bucky’s lips somewhere up above. “God, yes, right there, baby. Love your mouth on me, ugh. You feel so good. Want you so bad, Stevie.”

Steve remembered when they lived together in Brooklyn, and Bucky used to bring dames back at night, long before either of them had made up their mind about their sexuality. He wasn’t the type of guy to listen in to the sounds the next room over (the room being Bucky’s own bedroom, which he almost never used, because they always found an excuse to sleep in Steve’s room), but they were so loud he couldn’t help but hear. Jealousy had always made him pay attention to detail—although he’d never been sure whether he was jealous of Bucky, or the girl. Now he was glad that he’d paid attention, though; he knew exactly what Bucky liked. He knew Bucky could go for hours without finishing, and he always let the girls finish first. He’d always been good at pleasing dames, even if he hadn’t enjoyed it. Steve sort of wished they could have been each other’s first, but he knew that they would always be each other’s best.

Bucky held on for a good while, but after about twenty minutes of Steve exploring every inch of his nether regions with his tongue, Steve could tell he was nearing his limit. He tugged sharply on Steve’s hair, warning him. “Gonna come, Stevie. Gonna—oh, god.”

Steve had the sudden instinct to pull back, and Bucky came on his face. He pulled himself up next to Bucky so the soldier could taste himself on the captain’s face. They caught their breath for a moment or two, then Bucky sat up part way. “Gotta take care of you, babydoll.”

Steve had come a couple of times already, his come soaking through the materials of his boxers and just starting to get uncomfortable against the friction of his jeans. He gladly shucked the offending pants off. “How do you want me?”

Bucky leaned off the bed and fussed with his own jeans pocket for a moment, pulling out a condom. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I want you inside me.”

Steve could hear Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, and he paused for a moment, already half-hard again. He resumed putting the condom on, and Steve started to take his underwear off.

“Wait,” Bucky ordered, and Steve stopped. Bucky picked up his wrists and moved them over Steve’s head. “Keep your hands there.” He sat back for a moment, and Steve almost wiggled under the scrutiny, still a little insecure. Bucky ran a metal thumb across his top-surgery scars, touch so light it tickled, and bent down to kiss Steve, feathers upon his mouth. Steve had never expected him to be such a gentle lover, but each of his touches were filled with such purpose and precision that Steve was reminded that he was an assassin, after all.

“’M not made of glass, Buck,” Steve growled, a little irritated. He felt like Bucky was treating him like he was a kid with at least twenty different things wrong with him.

“I know, I just… can’t believe you’re here. Can’t believe I’m really touching you.”

Steve scoffed, and he could feel his deprecation rising up. “Not made of gold, either.”

Bucky almost looked confused for a moment. “You’re better’n gold.”

Steve laughed. “Now who’s the sap?”

Bucky touched his body again with such reverence, running his hands over perfect muscle. He bent down to smell his boxers, licking him through the fabric. He peeled the boxers down his legs and swirled his tongue around Steve’s clit, making him cry out and struggle to keep his hands above his head. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, and Steve squirmed again. “Stay still, baby.”

It was one thing to be praised for doing a good job, but Steve had always had trouble accepting compliments he felt like he hadn’t earned. “I’m not beautiful, Bucky,” he muttered.

Bucky immediately stopping licking his entrance, and sat up. “Okay, what’s this about?”

Steve was starting to get frustrated, and he knew it was just at himself, and he hated himself for taking it out on Bucky. “Nah, I was just being stupid. I’m sorry, forget it.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “If I’m doing something that’s making you uncomfortable, you should tell me.”

“No! No, it’s not you at all. You’re fine, you’re fucking… perfect. I’m just… whatever.”

“…Just what?” Bucky prompted.

“Just—“ _disgusting_ was the word on Steve’s mind. And he almost never felt that way, not anymore, and he knew that he had a great body and there were so many people that would have been happy to have it. But he’d never asked for it. All he wanted was to be healthy. It was too much to ask to be six foot two, with perfect teeth and rippling abs. There were days he was proud of himself for transitioning, and he’d walk into the doctor’s office happily and report no issues with the medication and he’d get his testosterone shot and be on his way. Then there were days he’d look into the mirror and see nothing but a fake who’d had everything handed to him and didn’t deserve any of it. Of course, right now would have to be one of those times, and he felt like crap for ruining their time together.

“Listen. You are amazing. You’re the bravest man I know, and I mean that. Not because of Thanos or the Avengers or any of that, although God knows that makes you a hero. I mean even when nothing was expected of you, you’ve always done what was right. You’ve had something inside you that drives you to be so righteous. You’d face the world and say, ‘how you see me is not who I am’. And I learned that real quick with you, Steve. You showed me to love you for your heart, your fire, not your body. Now your outsides match your insides, just like I always saw.”

Steve felt tears in his eyes, but a cruel voice in his head in his head hissed that he didn’t deserve any of it, that Bucky was wasting his words. “I wish I could see what you see,” he whispered.

Bucky leaned down and gave him another fragile kiss, and this time Steve understood a little better. The kiss was gentle, but it wasn’t weak. There was a whole lifetime of passion and strength behind it, and Bucky was just expressing that in a way that was as far from violence as he could get. He knew they’d both seen more than enough violence. “I’ll just have to show you what I see, then.”

Steve snorted. “Might take a while.”

“Guess I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, then.”

Steve was so, incredible, wholly in love that he felt like a fire was erupting between them, a fire that ate them away and burned them until nothing but their souls remained, two spirits making love in a vacuum of space and time where they were the only two beings.

“Here, look at it like this. I sure as hell ain’t perfect,” he commented, jostling his full tummy. “Don’t you think I feel like I’m taking up more than I deserve? No, don’t feel bad…” he added, noticing Steve’s guilty expression. “That’s not what I mean. You don’t see all this fat and think, ‘what a slob.’ You love me anyway, right?”

Steve nodded enthusiastically. “I love it,” he whispered, punctuating his confession with a squeeze to Bucky’s lovehandle.

“Right. So I see you, with all your faults—however few—and I love you for them.” He worked a finger into Steve’s vagina, seeing right through Steve’s insecurity to the source of the issue. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve responded, drunk off the feeling of having the words trapped inside him for so long, and then saying them twice in the same night. He repeated them over and over, worrying that maybe Bucky might eventually tire from them, but the soldier just returned to fitting another finger inside, crooking them up and hitting his g-spot. Steve cried out and squirted over Bucky’s fingers, adding more lubrication for the soldier to fit a third metal finger inside. He brushed over Steve’s g-spot every time, running two fingers of his organic over his sensitive clitoris. Steve came, and while he was riding the waves of his orgasm, Bucky lined up, and then put the tip of his cock in when Steve was ready again. He thrusted inside, and rested his weight on Steve as they adjusted their positions.

Steve finished a while later, and Bucky came again a moment after that. He rolled off the condom and threw it in the trash, and Steve went to the bathroom to fetch a towel to clean them both up. Exhausted and sex-happy, they climbed into bed.

Bucky stretched out right in the middle, and patted his belly. Steve happily grabbed a generous roll of pudge and wrapped his legs around one of Bucky’s, thoroughly tangling their limbs in a mess of flesh and metal.

“I’m sorry I got into all that earlier,” Steve said a few moments after Bucky turned out the light.

“Never apologise, okay, doll? I’m glad we talked about it. Don’t feel bad about openin’ up to me.”

“Okay.” Steve responded.

After a moment or two, Dodger scratched at the door, opening it further and padding into the bedroom.

“Here boy!” Bucky whistled, patting the bed beside them. There was hardly room, but the German shepherd climbed up beside them anyway, and the three quickly fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry to update late this week, guys. My mom went into the hospital so I had to take a break to spend time with her, but she’s all better now, and next week’s update should be on time :)


	7. Benign (Bucky POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes missing.

Bucky woke up. Not just from sleep, but from the strange state he’d spent the last year in. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wake and not dread the entire day, longing for the moment he got to sleep again, but even that brought him no peace. He laid there for a moment, letting the feeling of absolute calm spread over him, like drinking warm tea and feeling it spread throughout his body.

He turned over to say good morning to Steve, but the body he felt pressed against his wasn’t the supersoldier’s. Instead, Dodger began thumping his tail happily against the mattress.

“Good morning, pal,” Bucky greeted, scratching his head. “Where’s Stevie?”

He wasn’t too surprised to find Steve gone; it was ten a.m. on a Thursday morning. Daybreak Designs wasn’t open until noon, but he expected Steve had already been up for hours already, waking before the sun to make some decadent breakfast, probably.

He rose from the bed, and Dodger followed him into the empty kitchen, turning quickly in circles. He made an abrupt bark and whined at the door. “You need to go for a walk?” Bucky asked, looking around for some sort of note on the fridge or counter.

His brief search turned up nothing, and he told his paranoid side to calm down, fetching Dodger’s leash and taking him down to the patch of grass in front of Steve’s apartment. He checked his phone for messages, but there was nothing. He could feel his anxiety rising like bile in this throat.

Once Dodger finished going to the bathroom, they went back upstairs. Bucky called Steve’s phone, but he didn’t answer. They went back inside the apartment and he sat heavily on the couch, calling again. Steve’s phone instantly vibrated on the coffee table, and that’s when Bucky began to panic.

So he did what anyone would do in a crisis: he called Natasha.

She answered on the second ring. “’Lo?”

“Nat. I need your help.”

He gave her the address to ‘Jack’s’ apartment, and she promised to be there in five minutes without even asking for a reason.

Three minutes later, Bucky let her in.

“Okay, what’s the situation here? Is this a ‘I need your help to decipher a text’ emergency or ‘Help, Jack is actually Steve’ emergency?”

Bucky was stunned, although he shouldn’t have been. “You knew?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Of course. I didn’t know that Steve was alive-“ she added quickly. “But the moment I met ‘Jack’ I knew it was Steve. Don’t worry about it; I’d been watching you guys for a while. I got sort of used to the way he looked at you.”

Bucky nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh, well, Steve and I…” he blushed pointlessly, knowing that the superspy in front of him must have put the pieces together about why he was alone in Steve’s apartment. “Steve is gone. Just, disappeared. Without a note or anything. And I know that’s not such a big deal, but…”

Natasha interrupted with a hand on his arm. “No, you were right to call me. This situation is sensitive. You did the right thing, big guy. Now stay calm, I’m going to check the security cameras outside the building, see if I can find anything.”

Bucky followed her downstairs to the maintenance closet. She picked the lock, and they quickly went inside, going to another room beyond the first with a computer and several monitors, displaying different angles of the entrance, roof, and hallways. She activated the camera on the street, playing it back from dawn onward, but it revealed nothing.

“Wait.” Nat stepped aside and allowed Bucky to take control of the computer. He remembered how Steve always had a habit of going on the roof to watch the sunrise. He selected the roof view, and sure enough, at around six thirty, Jack emerged from the stairwell to sip his post morning-run coffee near the air duct. He sped up the footage for the next half hour, and then at seven, Jack mysteriously collapsed. Bucky made fists, trying not to panic, and turned up the sound and heard the unmistakable hum of a SHIELD stealth helicopter. A black figure came into view just around the side of the duct, and shot a crossbow at the camera.

“Shit.” Natasha’s fingers flew over the keyboard, trying to find another camera on the roof that showed what happened next, but there were too many things in the way. Another view showed the tail end of the helicopter flying past the frame, but Bucky already knew what had happened.

He sunk to the ground, furious that he’d slept through all of it. _This is your fault,_ his mind growled. _He warned you that SHIELD would intervene if they ever found out he was seeing you. It’s been hours already. He’s probably dead because of you, Barnes. Was it worth it?_

He hated that his answer was yes. He would rather spend the time he had with Steve and never be able to see him again than have both of them live apart in safety, and he knew Steve would choose the same. Of course, it hadn’t been either of their choice, and nothing was going to stop him from burning the whole fucking base to the ground to bring Steve back.

His vision was going red, and he could feel Asset taking over. He’d been vaguely aware of his persona separating into two throughout his time recovering from what HYDRA had done to him. His therapist of the time had told him that for now, it was easier to make James Barnes and the Asset into two separate people, but eventually it’d have to be something he would deal with. There were positive attributes to the Asset, however; it was calculating, and productive. Bucky’s emotions could get in the way, he could curl up on the floor and bitch about how it was his fault Steve was gone, or he could do something about it.

Nat recognised the cold glint in his eyes, but didn’t comment on it. “Alright, before we go storming into SHIELD headquarters, we should think of a plan. Am I calling backup?”

Bucky shook his head. “We don’t have time. We have to act now. He’s already been gone for four hours.”

Nat nodded. “Okay. There was a serial number written on the tail of that helicopter. I recognise it from the Providence base in Ontario. With the stealth jet, we can make it in about three hours.”

“So Steve’s already been there?”

“No, the helicopter is a little slower than the jet. I’d say they’re arriving right about now. Get your gear, meet me out front in thirty minutes.”

Bucky nodded and turned around to see an astonished janitor standing in the doorway. “You can’t… be in here…” he muttered weakly.

Nat rolled her eyes and hit him over the head with her gun. “Thirty minutes,” she called before running back to the Avengers tower.

 

Bucky quickly made sure Dodger had enough food for the day, promising he’d have his owner back soon. He was glad his own apartment was only two blocks away, and he ran up to his closet (only slightly out of breath, he silently gave himself credit for gaining so much weight but still being fully capable of kicking ass) to get out his equipment. He slung the duffel bag full of firearms over his shoulder and held up his old suit. It had been about two months since he’d worn it last, and it had barely fit him then. He knew without even trying that there was no way it was going on today, so he salvaged what he could of the protective armour and wore it over black jeans and a thick sweatshirt. He dashed past the mirror on the way out, and he looked decidedly unlike the Winter Soldier, but maybe that was good. It’d give him the advantage of surprise. He felt a small thrill that he could almost pass as a civilian now, if it wasn’t for his metal arm. He’d replace the thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to despise it when Steve enjoyed it so much.

Nat picked him up in the stealth jet, and everyone stared at the aircraft hovering in the middle of Queens. He got in, and she pursed her lips at his getup. “Extra tactical suit in the back, if you need it. Size extra-large,” she added, eyebrow raised at him as he changed.

“I’m retired, I’m allowed,” he said defensively.

“Oh no, I’m all for it. Really, you look cute. And clearly Steve enjoys it, so. As long as you’re happy and safe.”

The tactical suit fit fine, although it didn’t quite have the mobility his own suit allowed for. They went over a few different ideas about where to go in and where Steve might be kept while they flew, but Nat had limited information about that particular base.

“I can’t believe after all he’s done for this country, they would just take him away like that,” Bucky growled.

“We have to talk about what’s going to happen after we find him, though,” Nat began, and Bucky was grateful that she didn’t even say ‘if we find him’, because clearly that was never an option. “SHIELD isn’t going to let him stay with you. We might take down the base, but there’s always more. I doubt you can convince a whole organisation to back off, and hiding will only work for so long.”

Bucky shrugged. “That’s up to Steve. I’ll ask him what he wants to do when we find him.”

Soon, the towns and roads beneath them gave way to vast expanses of thick forests and exposed rock. In just under three hours, Natasha spotted the aboveground portion of the facility. They almost missed it, because the colour of the building blended in so well with the rock it sat next to.

“Okay, I’ve got partial clearance, so as long as they don’t wonder what I’m doing poking around, I can find out where they’re keeping him.”

“That part won’t be difficult,” Bucky thought with a smirk, thankful of Steve’s complete inability to go quietly.

Nat nodded. “Right. As soon as I find out, I’ll tell you over the comm. I’ll create a distraction, and then you’ll get him out. If I can, I’ll meet you back here at the jet. I won’t be able to help much, once they figure out who I am and what I’m doing. They’ve got me on a leash too.”

“Nat… I’m sorry I asked you to do this. I know—“

“No,” Natasha interrupted him sharply. “SHIELD might think they control us. I’m just letting them because I know it’s the quickest way I can protect people. I’ve been looking for a reason to disappear for a while, now. We have to send a message to them that they can’t just yank us away whenever they want. Maybe it’s time for the Avengers to take a step back and show the government they can’t take us for granted. We came from vigilantes and fugitives. Maybe it’s time we return there.”

Bucky hugged her. “Thank you.” Then she opened the back, and he dropped down onto the roof of a lookout tower. He activated the comm and linked it with the AI in his helmet. “Nat, are you there?”

“Yeah. I’ve just entered their top floor, requesting permission to go to the archives for a file the director requested.”

“Won’t they check your ID?”

“No one would ever have the balls to say the director sent them for something. It’s too obvious, which is why they’ll never think of it. Also, I currently have the face of Yelena. Same technology your boy uses.” Bucky was about to respond, but she cut him off. “Quiet, I’m at the desk.” She left the channel open, so he could hear what was going on. “Agent Belova requesting clearance for floor 39,” she said in a high voice.

“I’ll need to see your pass.” Bucky could just barely make out the other voice.

“Right, of course. Director Stoner sent me to collect information on Steven Rogers’ known location, while he’s still in hiding. Let me just find the paperwork…”

“That’s not possible, we just brought him in an hour ago. You can inform the director that he doesn’t need to worry about the Captain escaping again.”

“Really? Director Stoner will be very pleased you took the initiative. Why don’t you tell me your name, and I’ll put in a good word for you.” It was a good move. Bucky could tell the agent had become suspicious of why the director wasn’t already aware that SHIELD had Captain America in their base, but flattery quickly distracted them from thinking about it too long. “And maybe I should check his cell, just to have more to report back to the director.”

A third voice joined in. “That isn’t necessary. Director Stoner accompanied the Captain when he was brought in this morning. As his secretary, you should know that.”

Nat quickly recovered. “I’m not his secretary! I’m an agent. He gave the order a while ago, but I’ve been on a mission. It isn’t my fault it took me so long to get here from Russia.”

“What were you doing in Russia?”

Nat hesitated. “That’s classified.”

 Bucky grabbed his phone, hurrying to try and find information that could help her.

“You better tell me, Agent Belova. I wasn’t notified that you’d be coming in, and we can’t just give that information to anyone.”

Bucky used Tony’s password to get into the SHIELD database in Russia. He’d discovered the universal code a while ago, when the internet had blocked pornographic websites. “The Red Room—tell her you were receiving superhuman upgrades at the Red Room! It’s a clearance level high enough that she won’t know anything about it, and Yelena went off the grid around the same time.”

Natasha easily used his story with the skill of a talented agent. “I was part of the Red Room experiment. I’m the Black Widow’s replacement, and I needed more power to beat Romanoff.”

Bucky held his breath as he waited for the third person to respond. “So you’re superhuman? Very well, show me.”

 _Shit_. Maybe she could say the experiment didn’t work, that she would go back—

There was a sudden noise of metal breaking, and a few gasps. “Very well, Agent Belova. I’m very sorry to waste your time. Here’s the information on where Rogers is being kept.”

“Thank you,” Nat responded casually, and Bucky could tell by a _ping_ that she was in the elevator.

“What the hell did you do?!” he exclaimed.

“Come on, if Yelena needs superhuman strength to beat me, I should at least be able to break open a heavily-secured elevator door, right?” He heard paper flipping. “He’s in room 384. They’re already suspicious of me, so the only thing I can do is draw attention away. In exactly ten minutes, go to the fifth basement of the west wing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I have to deactivate the comm now, or they’ll be able to track it back to you. I’ll either see you at the jet or…”

“I’ll see you.”

“Okay. Take care, Buck.”

The line went dead.

Bucky counted to ten minutes, ignoring the explosion from the east wing when he got to seven minutes. At nine and a half, the electricity on the west wing turned off, and all the automatic doors opened. Bucky took a deep breath, and the Asset surfaced.

 _Good morning, Soldier,_ Bucky thought wryly, trying to keep his other half in control as he stormed down a hallway, knocking aside guards and agents. _Your mission: find Steve. Keep him safe._

Shouts came from behind him and a stun gun hit his left calf. He whipped around and shot three agents in their legs. He kept going. He read the numbers on the doors—370, 372—and passed a corridor. Several guards came out with guns, but SHIELD was more interested in capturing him than killing him. They were sloppy, leaving wide open areas. Bucky reminded the Asset not to make any lethal shots, and his journey to the room was a conglomeration of foot, foot, shoulder, arm, thigh. They shot another stun bullet into his shoulder, but the adrenaline and serum inside him made him barely feel anything. Soon, they realised that they couldn’t pick him off from far away. His metal arm dashed forward, breaking forearms, dislocated shoulders, breaking guns. He dodged knives and snapped spines, and then he started losing feeling in his left leg. The Asset didn’t care about pain. The Asset knew that there were nerves down there that could still be moved. The Asset stopped in front of a door that read 384 and broke it down with a metal fist.

Steve was restrained by metallic cuffs circled by a blue ring of light, but seemed unhurt. He was drugged; face dragging up slowly to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’d shaved his beard and buzzed his hair, and Bucky felt anger surge inside of him. The Asset stepped forward and snapped the cuffs, ignoring the electric charge that surged through him, making his teeth chatter.

“Buck… what’re you…” Steve slurred, unable to hold up his head.

Bucky picked him up and the Asset allowed him one kiss, pressed to the Captain’s unresponsive lips. “Rescuin’ you,” he growled.

“Doesn’t… matter. They’ll hunt… us down… We … can’t hide.”

It was a bit harder to fight while he held Steve, so he was forced to go deeper underground. He found himself in a lab, and Steve needed a break, so they paused behind a row of lockers, and he put Steve down for a moment. “Are you okay, baby?” Adrenaline was making its way through Steve’s system too, and the serum was pushing out the drugs faster than normal.

Steve sat up, and he was still a little groggy, but he had better control of his body. “Yeah. I hope I didn’t say anything weird back there. I couldn’t really stop stuff that was in my head from getting out.”

“Why, what were you thinking about?”

A pretty blush dusted Steve’s cheeks. “How hot you looked breakin’ that door down,” he admitted.

Bucky laughed and leaned forward to give him a kiss. “Listen, though, you did mention something else. And you had a point, we can’t hide from SHIELD forever. Once I get you out of here, where do you want to go?”

Steve groaned. “God, I don’t know. I can’t fake my death again. And there’s no way I’m going to drag you all over the world.”

Bucky touched his cheek gently. “You know that wherever you go, I’m following you. I don’t care where we end up as long as I’m with you.”

Steve melted beneath his hand. “That’s sweet. But you deserve more than a life on the run. You deserve everything that I can give you, and I’m not going to hide you away in some exotic city.”

“You sure about that? It could be nice. We could go undercover, go to some resort and hide in plain sight. Somewhere with beaches and really decadent food,” he added. Although he would never want to return to the lonely life he’d had in Bucharest, he knew that he could literally live in a cave with Steve and still be happy.

Steve paused for a moment. “No,” he decided. “We fight.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, baby. We fight.” He should have known Steve Rogers would never back down from a fight. But he would always be right there beside him, making sure that when he picked fights too big to handle—and he always would, it was always a matter of when over if—that they’d face it together.

Steve could walk on his own, so they stayed in the mostly abandoned floor and made their way to the North wing. Bucky used Tony’s password to hack into a high-security elevator, and Bucky knew that meant Nat wouldn’t be the only one who SHIELD would be slow to trust again.

The elevator opened right into Director Stoner’s office.

It was vacant, but there were at least six different cameras positioned on the elevator. Bucky quickly shot each of them down, but guards would be there in less than a minute. The Asset’s mind raced to think of a plan.

“Steve, break my metal arm off,” Bucky commanded.

Steve moved forward, then the meaning of Bucky’s words hit him. “What? No!”

“Steve, please, you have to trust me. I have an idea of how we can get out of here. They’re not going to recognise me. Not… not like this. The arm is the only thing that gives me away. You have to break it off, and hide in the elevator. Just wait for me to get you, please?”

Steve nodded. “I trust you.” Bucky shut his eyes, and cried out as Steve wrenched the metal from its socket, wires and motherboards snapping and smoking, ungracefully torn from its base. His shoulder had been untouched, the arm broken off mid-bicep. Steve nodded, and went back into the elevator, closing the doors. Bucky picked up his arm, pressing a few impulse buttons on a panel on the forearm. He flipped a few tables, threw the computer, grabbed his stiff arm and wrenched four-fingered scratches into the walls.

He put on a heavy bomb jacket disguising his missing arm right before five guards broke the door down and stormed into the room. They aimed their guns at him. “Hey, whoa, don’t shoot! I’m Agent Leighton. It was the Winter Soldier, he captured me and took me here! I shot off his arm, but the fucker got into the private elevator somehow.”

One of the guards narrowed her eyes at the carnage. “The Winter Soldier? I don’t know about that. You sure you aren’t seeing things? I thought that guy died back in the eighties.”

“No, I was there in Austria when he blew up the VIC,” another guard responded. “He probably broke in to kill Captain America, finish the job.”

Bucky pointed to behind the desk, where he’d thrown the arm. “That’s where his arm landed after I shot it off. You can take a look.” He was counting in his head. _296\. 297._ He moved into the hallway as the guards gathered around the arm, whispering different opinions about the Winter Soldier. _298._ Bucky braced himself and put his organic finger in his right ear, trying to press his left against the opposite wall. _299._

Boom.

The walls of the office blew outward. Bucky was sent through the wall he braced himself against, and he felt his shoulder crunch against another one room over. Fortunately, the pain woke up the nerves the stun bullet had been slowing. The Asset didn’t wait for the smoke to clear before running back into the smouldering office. Two of the bodies that were closer to the door were still distinguishable as bodies, the other three had been reduced to nothing but negative spaces of ash on the walls. His arm, of course, was completely destroyed.

Just as he had hoped, the elevator was completely untouched. He pried the doors open, and Steve stepped forward and gave him the tightest hug. “Are you okay?” He immediately demanded.

Bucky was deaf in his left ear, but it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Come on, let’s meet up with Nat.”

They made their way from the office outside the base, and crossed from the North wing to the West wing, where Natasha had parked the stealth jet. She wasn’t in the cockpit, but Bucky put his gear back in it anyway.

“Was there a specific time she—“ Steve was cut off by an angry slap to his face. Bucky spun around to see that Nat had come from the other side, and was now hugging Steve.

“You asshole! Don’t you _ever_ do that again, you hear me? Look what you did to Bucky!”

Steve grinned and kissed the redhead on the cheek. “Missed you too, Nat.”

She smirked. “You should be thankful I didn’t slap you back when I saw you in that stupid getup and give you away to Bucky right then.”

Steve was much less surprised than Bucky had been, and they got into deep discussion about Dodger as Bucky prepared the last of the jet’s navigation for New York City.

“BARNES, ROGERS, ROMANOFF, STEP AWAY FROM THE JET!” A voice came over a megaphone, and they turned to see a small army surround the hill they’d parked on. “SURRENDER NOW OR WE’LL DETONATE THE HILL.”

The Asset thought of a million ways to get them out of the situation, but none involved all three of them getting out alive. Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, intertwining the fingers. He knew he thought this was it. Bucky couldn’t lose him again, not so soon.

“Listen to me,” Natasha hissed without turning to face them. “You two get into the jet right now. You fly as fast as you can, and don’t come back.”

“Nat,” Steve interrupted. Bucky’s brain wasn’t quite processing yet. “No. We—“

“I mean it, Rogers. I’d be goddamn happy if you let me die for you, okay? An honest to god death. I’ll be happy if I know that you two make it out of here, and go adopt a bunch of kids.”

The Asset was telling him that it was the only way to get out of there. The only way to keep Steve safe. Bucky’s world was changing too fast for him to keep up. “Natasha.”

She looked back, once. Her brown eyes filled with tears. “Go.”

“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COOPERATE, OR WE BLOW IT.”

“Thank you.”

“NINE!”

“Bucky, no, we _can’t_!”

Bucky had to forcibly put Steve into the passenger seat, before crossing around and getting in himself. He half expected Steve to launch himself out of the jet, do some stupid self-sacrificing bullshit at the last moment, but he had the good sense to stay in the jet.

“EIGHT!”

Bucky was glad for the auto-pilot feature on the jet that he honestly had no idea how to operate. He started up the engine, watching Natasha’s red hair blow in the breeze. He couldn’t hear the rest of the countdown, but they lifted off into the sky. They were a good quarter mile away before the hill exploded.

 

It was a good hour before either of them spoke.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I wish I could tell you there was another way.”

“No… I’m sorry. I was kind of an asshole. I’m supposed to be the Captain. I’m supposed to make the important calls, do the _right_ thing, even when it hurts. You make the call, Buck. And I’m glad you were there. I was too wrapped up in my emotions, and I would’ve gotten us all killed.”

“You don’t always have to do the right thing. I know it’s hard to have all that responsibility on you all the time. That’s why you retired, right? I get it, trust me. But it’s okay. You can take a break, let me be in charge for a while.”

Steve gave a gentle smile. “Yeah, I like it when you’re in charge.”

Bucky snorted. “I know, pal.”

“And I like… other things, too.” His hand moved from his own lap over to Bucky’s, to give his pudge a firm squeeze. “The way Nat put things… when she said I did this to you…”

“I think she meant while you were dead, not now that we’re dating.”

“I know… and god, I didn’t even think about the now part of things. But, I want you to know, just because I like it, you shouldn’t feel like you have to. I mean, clearly things won’t be going the way they have been. Now that Nat’s… and now that everyone knows I’m alive again, we won’t be able to live quietly for a while more. So if you don’t want to, or if it becomes inconvenient, don’t do it just for me.”

“Do what now?”

Steve hit him on the arm and he chuckled a little. It was a weak attempt, but he did want Steve to just be comfortable with saying the word _fat_. “Gain weight, you moron. Or, hell, I don’t know, not even gain weight, just… eat a lot.”

“Well I’m pretty sure that eating a lot results in gaining weight.”

“Alright, alright… just… what do you want, Bucky?”

Bucky heaved a sigh. He felt like he should be the one asking Steve what he wanted, but the captain was being so brave and he didn’t want to spoil their streak of talking about things. “I’m indifferent. Like I said before, it’s just results to a habit. And I’m not crazy about the results, but it’d be pretty hard for me to give up the habit. It’s not just ‘cause of you, either, so don’t feel all guilty. I think I was always heading in this direction. And I’m…” He couldn’t exactly say the word _happy_ , not so soon after Nat, and not so close to whatever impending doom rested in the future of the Avengers. “fine with where I am. If you like it, that’s an added bonus. As long as you want, I’ll keep doing what makes you happy.”

“At what point would… gaining weight make you unhappy?”

“I dunno. I mean, I don’t mind having as much weight as I do now, ‘cause I could still win a fight. So, as long as I’m still strong and active, I could keep gaining.”

Steve was blushing furiously. “That’s… that’s pretty big.” Bucky knew he was thinking of the serum that flowed through both their veins. He could easily hit 350 and still be as strong as any other healthy man. He didn’t know if Steve would want him to go that high, but it was nice to have one less thing to worry about.

Things were quiet for a while more, and about a half hour away from the Avengers tower, Steve spoke up again. “Do you think she could be… alive? Like how I did it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered truthfully. “I don’t think even you could have survived that explosion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent Yelena Belova is real-- after Civil War, when it was unclear where the Avenger’s loyalties were, SHIELD replaced Natasha with Yelena and tried to get the latter to challenge the former for her right to the title. They became friends, though, and Natasha helped her out a little (before manipulating her into retiring in Cuba, oops).   
> Also: no spoiler alert on how the story ends, but for those who don’t want Natasha to die (including meeeee) her eyes are not brown. Hmm.


	8. Homecoming (Steve POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More plot. Ew. And Steve and Bucky join the mile high club.

“Hello?” Sam Wilson’s voice came over Bucky’s phone.

“Hey, man.” Steve didn’t know where to start.

“Oh. Oh man.”

“Let’s have this conversation in person, okay? Where and when can you meet up?”

“You have a lot of explaining to do, and I think the rest of the team deserves to hear it.”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, who shrugged. “Okay.”

 

Steve would rather a small group get together—Tony, Clint, Sam, T’Challa, maybe Wanda and Vision—but Sam thought it would be better if he told everyone at once. He paced nervously in the back room, and Bucky went over a few anxiety-reducing breathing tricks with him.

Someone briefly rapped on the door. “Mr. Rogers, ready when you are.”

Bucky held his hand with his right. They’d wrapped the black sling over his left while T’Challa and Tony built him a new one, and he was a little off-balance in the meantime. “You don’t have to—“

Steve squeezed. “No, it’s okay. I do.”

He walked out to the podium, and Bucky stood off to the side, within eyeshot, but out of view of the several cameras for four different news broadcasts. In the audience before him was about 300 people. It was certainly more private than he’d been fearing- all the Avengers (some thirty odd heroes, counting the new recruits and the Guardians, a few X-Men sprinkled in), a few reporters, and some agents. “Good morning, everybody. Thanks for coming out. Ah, I’m Captain America, and on May 4th, 2018, SHIELD asked me to disappear. But not just to the public. I was forced to lie to my closest friends.” He couldn’t help his eyes from flicking over to where Bucky stood. The large brunet nodded back at him, gave a brilliant smile that he probably wasn’t feeling. “Because of this, several missions have been compromised, Agent Romanoff is dead, and Providence is destroyed.”

The next hour wasn’t so bad. After his opening statement, the reporters asked him questions, many of which he hadn’t considered himself. Would he be returning to the Avengers? Since the Avengers had been a part of SHIELD for so long, would people trust them without it? Why had he resurfaced?

He answered the last question honestly, publicly stating that he and Bucky were dating, although the word was underwhelming for what he really wanted to say. _We’re soulmates. We’ve been coming toward each other all our lives, and I truly believe everything that’s ever happened to me has directly brought me to the moment we first kissed._ They’d discussed putting everything out in the open before the press conference, and short of Steve standing on a soapbox and telling the reporters about how he liked to sit on Bucky’s lap and feed him enough food for four people, they both agreed that it was better to start with the truth rather than let the media come up with conclusions for both of them.

Once it was over, Tony pulled him aside. For once, he was glad to be alone with the man. “I like your approach.” Steve knew he was referencing when he’d come out to the world as Iron Man. “So… what exactly are you saying? Do you think we should revolt against SHIELD or something?”

“Technically we only operate under them as a courtesy. But I don’t know, Tony. That’s your call to make.” Since Steve had stepped down, Tony became the leader of the group. It was his tower, after all.

“They’ve certainly done horrible things to us, even after HYDRA… first the Sokovia Accords, now Natasha. But I don’t think they’ve ever acted without first being provoked. I’m not saying it’s your fault—I’m just saying that personally, I still feel safe working for them.”

“But for people who don’t?” Steve was being realistic. He knew he couldn’t fight all of SHIELD alone, even with Bucky on his side.

Tony nodded, and stepped out for a moment to call T’Challa into the room.

“Tony and I first started a program a while ago for Avengers who wanted to retire. We can protect them from SHIELD, HYDRA, any organisation, whether it means well or not.”

“Like the witness protection program, but for superheroes?” Steve wrinkled his nose. “That sounds like running.”

“I’ve set up a community in Wakanda on my personal land. Your countries have no jurisdiction there. Former Director Fury lives there, along with some other friends.” Steve’s mind went to Coulson, Pietro, other people he thought were certainly dead. “It’s not hiding, because it’s no secret. You don’t need to change your identity or pretend to be something that you’re not, and you’re welcome to have as much contact with the rest of the world as you want. You can even leave the reserve, but I can’t promise your safety if you do. You can get a job there, doing things to help people every day. You can still make lives better without risking your own.”

“I have to admit… that sounds perfect.”

“C’mon, Cap. You’ve been at it for eighty years.” Steve didn’t protest that he’d only been awake for about fifteen of those. He felt as tired as someone who’d been alive for all of it. “No one’s going to blame you for stepping down. Go buy a house with Barnes, and you can irrigate water for the deprived or something.”

_You have to let yourself believe this. You have to let yourself believe you deserve to be happy and safe without something terrible coming afterward._

“Well… when you put it like that…” Steve would talk it over with Bucky, of course. But he already knew what the soldier’s answer would be. “Okay.”

 

\--

A week later, they had all their things packed and had informed their respective landlords of their move. Bucky still didn’t know exactly what they were doing (Steve wanted to keep the reserve a surprise), and it had just about broken Steve’s heart how he packed up everything he owned in a matter of hours and wordlessly packed his few boxes in the trunk of their rental SUV. They sat at a picnic table at Central Park, and Dodger happily chased butterflies. Steve felt like he was in an antidepressant commercial, and he was okay with that. They were eating their subs in comfortable silence; Steve with his 6 inch tuna, and Bucky with his footlong meatball marinara.

“I got a surprise for ya, Buck,” he started, pulling up the image on his phone.

Bucky squinted at the screen. “That’s pretty. Where’s that?” he asked casually.

It was a picture of a moderate house in an oasis with a lake, gorgeous jungle standing out like a Rorschach in the desert. “Wakanda.”

Bucky hummed in response, but didn’t really pay attention, finishing his sub. He shifted forward and then back, tugging at the pants Steve knew were just under a month old. Steve wordlessly slid the cookies across the table to Bucky.

“Would you be happy, Bucky? Living there with me and Dodger, no war to fight, just some Habitat for Humanity type job?”

Bucky grinned up at him, talking around a mouthful of white-chip-macadamia-nut cookie. “I told you, Steve. I’d been happy if we lived in a ditch.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s ours.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and he held the phone to better see it without glare. “You—Steve, you got that house for us?”

Steve nodded, and swiped right to reveal the digital copy of two plane tickets. “We can leave in two hours, if you want. No conditions, no downside. It’s domestic, but it’s not… not forced, like before.”

There were tears in Bucky’s eyes. “Hell yes. I want this. I want this with you.”

Steve let a breath go that he didn’t realise he was holding. “Okay. Me too. I… wow. I was scared.”

“Scared to let yourself want something that much?” Steve nodded. “I know the feeling. It’s what kept me from telling you how much I wanted you, before Thanos. I mean, each time. I got so close, but then I’d just worry that you’d be taken away from me, and it would hurt so much more than if I’d never said anything. Stupid, huh?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. Real stupid.”

Bucky finished the last cookie. “Hey, you want to get ice cream?”

Steve knew that by ‘to get he definitely meant ‘you want to watch me get so full on ice cream I can’t breathe, and then give me a belly rub in our rental SUV?’ “Hell yes.”

Steve bought Bucky a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from some corner shop, and he ate it in the car (while keeping Dodger off it), like a secret just for them (albeit one that everyone knew about). It still didn’t make it any less special, how every part of Bucky touched the deepest parts of Steve. Literally and figuratively.

“Think I can finish it before it melts?” Bucky asked, a perverse grin on his lips.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty hot out, and you already ate a lot.”

“So you don’t think I can do it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“How about, if I finish this before it gets runny, you have to give me head?”

“Deal.” Steve almost wanted him to win just so he could wrap his lips around that perfect cock. It was a win-win situation, he knew. And he’d probably give the brunet head either way.

Bucky moved his chair as far back as it would go, and Steve straddled himself on his boyfriend’s thick lap, already feeling the soldier get hard beneath him. Steve rubbed his stomach, comforting circles and small massages on areas that felt tight, just how Bucky liked. Around halfway, Bucky really started to slow down, taking larger breaks between spoonfuls and undoing the button on his pants. His belly was starting to peek out the underside of his shirts, and a soft triangle of underbelly was pressing the two sides of the jeans farther apart than could be done up again. “Might have to get a new outfit once we get to Wakanda,” Bucky remarked, breathing heavily.

“Might,” Steve purred, gently tipping the container forward. It was already melted, and the liquid cream easily slid down Bucky’s throat.

Steve marvelled at the new arm Tony and T’Challa had built Bucky; while his metal arm was a thing of power, this was a thing of beauty. It was just as strong as the last one, but the metal plating was replaced by a sleek design where gold rivets blended the piece together as one limb. It was larger, too; it matched his other arm better, made him look more balanced. The red star still sat proudly on his shoulder, matching the inked one on Steve, and every chance they got, they wore sleeveless t-shirts to show off their stars.

Steve slipped between the brunet’s legs and motioned for him to lift his hips, allowing him to pull his pants and boxers down.

“What’re you doing? I lost,” Bucky moaned as Steve nibbled on the flesh below his belly button. He wasn’t complaining when Steve swallowed him down, though, just tangled his fingers in Steve’s short blond hair and tried not to moan.

Steve loved blowing Bucky, because his hands were free to explore all the rolls of flesh above him, kneading and pinching and jiggling.

“You ever gonna get tired of me, Stevie?” Bucky’s questioning voice came from above.  

Steve pulled off Bucky’s dick for a moment, moving his hands away from that perfect belly to keep the rhythm. “No. Never,” he said in his most serious voice, looking Bucky straight in the eyes.

He realised that he was completely happy, with absolutely no plan B, no safeguard or things to protect himself from losing Bucky. He could admit he was afraid. He’d never let himself love anything this much before, and maybe that’s because Bucky was the only thing he could ever have loved that much. He’d lost him so many times before, and Bucky was right. Now that they’d admitted everything, it would hurt so much worse if they lost each other again.

But he knew they never would.

 

\--

Tony greeted them at the tower. “Buckaroo, pal, good to see you. And… more of you,” he added, glancing at his waist and over at Steve.

“Nice to see you too, LooneyTones,” Bucky responded easily. Steve was glad to see that they’d grown something of a friendship during his absence. Bucky had an odd habit of befriended most people he’d tried to kill at one point.

“Well, my plane’s ready for you guys. I’m not going with you, but you can get a hold of me anytime, okay? FRIDAY is fully integrated with the whole system.”

Sam and a few others were there too, and they said brief goodbyes, but they knew that their paths would all intersect in Wakanda one day or another. Steve gave Tony a hug, and when he pulled him in, the billionaire whispered in his ear. “There is a bedroom, by the way. It’s just a 20 hour flight, but I have a feeling you two will need it.”

Steve patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks,” he responded drily.

Bucky shot him a questioning look, but Steve just shook his head. Tony was right, though.

T’Challa went with them on the plane, but soon after boarding he retreated to his own room to make a business call. Tony’s flight attendant, Marcus, assured them that if they needed anything, he would be happy to assist.

Steve tried not to be too impolite as he hurried past all the formalities in favour of getting comfortable on their flight.

“Something on your mind, pal?” Bucky asked with an eyebrow raised that said he knew exactly what was on Steve’s mind.

Steve tried not to blush. He took Bucky’s hand and led him to the back of the plane where their room was. The bed was circular and enormous, with a thick comforter in a suggestive shade of red. “Think you’re gettin’ too big for that shirt, Buck.”

Bucky looked down at the offending button-up, a dark slate blue that brought out the grey in his eyes. “What, this one? Nah, I think it’s good for a while more.”

Steve poked Bucky a little above his belly button, where he was still mostly full from breakfast. “I dunno. Not the way you’ve been eating.”

“You think?” The buttons were beginning to strain. Not gap; not quite yet, but the fabric was just starting to pull around them in ways that indicated it would soon be too tight. “Damn, I liked this one.”

“You can wear those toga things when we get to Wakanda.”

Bucky smirked and sat down at the edge of the bed. When he sat, the buttons undoubtedly gapped. “Yeah? You like that baby, want me to get even bigger off exotic foods, want me to not be able to button up my clothes?”

As if Steve wasn’t already excited, he was getting even harder. “FRIDAY, how high are we?”

“ _Approximately 37,000 feet, Captain_ ,” the AI responded.

“Ready to join the mile high club?”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, and Steve’s eyes were magnetised to how his whole belly jiggled in his lap. “You kinky little bastard. C’mere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was so short! I’m losing motivation for this story, but I promise to update the next two chapters. I can’t guarantee them both on Tuesday, but I’m valuing the quality rather than quantity, or making the deadline.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos are the zest that spices up my Autumn tea! Come talk with me about Seb, Marvel, or chubby people on my tumblr at star-thief.


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